


Sherlock: Magic Rising

by JamesRobinson



Category: Lucifer (TV), Sherlock (TV), The Sandman (Comics)
Genre: Crossover, First Time, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-24 15:35:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 196,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15633609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamesRobinson/pseuds/JamesRobinson
Summary: While dealing with the prospect of magic suddenly becoming real, the Holmes men also find themselves dealing with an even deeper mystery: Love. Johnlock, Mystrade, and more.





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: A Statistical Anomaly

\---

Mycroft’s Office: (14 April, noon)

Having skipped his usual sensible lunch for three packages of Mrs. Freshley’s powdered donuts from the vending machine, Mycroft Holmes stared guiltily at his computer screen. There were the nation’s problems, all waiting in neat little files, along with another file contained on a flash drive that represented the greatest and most significant crisis of his career. His focus _should_ have been on his work. The work always came first; the work was _everything_. At least it had been, until now. Now, he was… _distracted_. After a lifetime of remaining aloofly above it all, Mycroft Holmes was distracted by a _personal_ problem.

He came to the unfortunate conclusion that there was only one person with both the intelligence and experience to understand the magnitude of his problem. His younger brother Sherlock would see how awful it truly was. He’d have to drop by Baker Street a bit sooner than he’d planned.

At least it gave him an excuse. He glanced unhappily at the flash drive. He’d been planning on checking in personally with Sherlock soon anyway. His brother hadn’t noticed the pattern yet, but it was inevitable that he would. Mycroft could only hope that it wouldn’t drive him mad when he did.

It had nearly drive Mycroft mad, but someone had been there to help him through it. Ironically, that someone was now responsible for his current crisis. He called for his car with a heavy sense of dread. The idea of even having personal problems was awful enough, but the prospect of discussing them with his little brother left Mycroft grasping for a suitable adjective to describe the horror of it all.

\---

221B Baker Street: (14 April, early afternoon)

“So, _tell_ me Sherlock… how _are_ things between you and Dr. Watson?” Mycroft sipped his tea, one eyebrow hovering on the verge of being raised.

 _“Why_ do you even ask? Has your surveillance been compromised again?” Not bothering to hide his annoyance, Sherlock tossed the latest collection of listening devices he’d found onto the table. One landed in his untouched cup of tea with a particularly satisfying plop. “Why not just ask the new man you’ve placed at the café? I _do_ hope you keep him on. He may have an appalling lack of spy skills, but John says he makes an excellent _sandwich_.”

“Just making small talk, little brother.”

“You _despise_ small talk. We _both_ despise small talk.” His keen, pale grey eyes surveyed his brother, missing nothing. One of Mycroft’s generally pristine collars had a slight crease and his tie pin was crooked. There were dark circles under his eyes, and the faint dusting of white on his slightly-too-tight waistcoat looked suspiciously like powdered sugar. Mycroft gave every indication of being in distress, despite his outwardly calm demeanor. “What’s the _problem_ , Mycroft?”

“Problem?” Mycroft swallowed a sigh. Keeping his expression bland was becoming an effort. “Can’t I just be… interested in how you’re getting on? I do _care_ , you know.”

“Oh, _come on_ , Mycroft! _Must we?_ It’s been a long day and I’m not in the mood for games.” Sherlock fished the bug out of his tea and downed it in a single gulp. He slumped back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

“It’s what we _do_ , though, isn’t it? Play our little _game_ of deductions.” Mycroft’s voice was soft and full of regret. He’d given up on looking calm, and his expression matched his tone. Sherlock sat up very slowly, peering into his brother’s blue-grey eyes and waiting for him to continue. There was a rather long silence, until Sherlock finally spoke.

“Is someone dying? I know it’s not _you;_ you’d be calm if _you_ were dying…”

“No, nothing like that. And before you ask, everything is secure at Sherrinford.”

“Then it’s _personal_. You’re practically disheveled by your standards, and if it were a purely _governmental_ matter, your wardrobe would be perfect. By the weight you’ve gained in the 16 days since I saw you last, it’s a sudden but _chronic_ problem. It’s even been affecting your sleep.” He flashed a quick grin and sighed. “Deductions. It _is_ what we do, _isn’t_ it?”

Mycroft frowned, resisting the game. It was at this point in the conversation that he would generally deflect Sherlock’s uncomfortable deductions with a few uncomfortable deductions of his own. He had plenty. Sherlock didn’t seem to have noticed the pattern yet, but he was also distressed, probably over certain things involving John Watson, as was perfectly evident by… His train of thought came to an abrupt, intentional stop. He wasn’t here to play the game.

“You’re not _wrong_. You know I don’t _do_ personal, Sherlock. I always rather _liked_ Moriarty’s nickname for me. _The_ _Iceman_ … I thought it _suited_ me rather well. You know I despise emotional attachments, but I find myself in a sort of… _situation_ with someone. I know _you_ have some experience there, and since you’re not a complete idiot, I thought I might seek your opinion on the subject.”

“Mycroft! You’ve gotten yourself a _goldfish_. _You,_ of all people.” He didn’t bother to hide his surprise. Mycroft had allowed himself a friend. It certainly explained his distress.

“It’s an absolutely absurd idea.”

“And completely true.”

 _“Obviously”,_ Mycroft sighed. “I don’t know how you stand it.”

“You really _should_ have taken your own advice. _Don’t get attached_.” Sherlock watched his brother stall for time before replying. Mycroft straightened his tie pin and brushed off his waistcoat.

“Bit too late for that, I’m afraid.” It was almost a whisper.

“Just how attached _are_ you, Mycroft?” This _was_ getting interesting. Sherlock leaned forward, trying not show how deliciously amusing it all was.

“I seem to have acquired a… friend.” The word rolled awkwardly off his tongue. “It was _entirely_ accidental on my part, of course. I recently had a, a sort of personal crisis. It’s complicated, but he found me in a… compromising position and… helped me through a personally embarrassing moment.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t had him assassinated. Or at _least_ locked away somewhere.” It wasn’t even sarcastic. He _was_ a bit surprised. It wasn’t like Mycroft to let someone see his vulnerable side; not the _real_ one anyway. Mycroft took far too much pride in not _having_ a vulnerable side to let that happen.

“The thought _did_ occur, but it seems I can’t because I… actually _care_. About _him_.” Mycroft shuddered, a gesture somewhere between melodrama and truth. “I genuinely _care_ about a person outside the heading of family obligation.” He took a deep, calming breath. “It’s dreadful, and I don’t know _how_ you stand it. Family is bad enough. No offense meant, little brother. I know you’re in agreement with _that_ , but _this_ is becoming… _intrusive.”_

“What about blackmail? Just how compromising was your position? With _most_ people in government, I’d expect call girls and cocaine, but knowing you as I do, I suspect a rather _different_ kind of white powder was involved.”

“Yes, well… Perhaps we’re _both_ a bit like Uncle Rudy.”

“The siren call of old habits.” Sherlock murmured. “There must have been more than powdered donuts to all this. Were you hiding under your desk again?”

“I’m afraid so.” Mycroft poured himself another cup of tea, outwardly calm and inwardly dying. “There may have been some… _emotional_ display on my part. It’s all a bit of a blur. And now, I find myself…” He hesitated, trying to find the words to express his dilemma and utterly failing. “It’s not about blackmail.”

“What _is_ it about?”

“He’s very… We’re almost complete opposites. Intellectually, socially; opposites in nearly _every_ way. And while he _does_ remind me of Dr. Watson in some ways, he’s much more aggressively… _social_. He’s a… _a good bloke_ , as they say. _Beer and sports_ type of fellow.” Mycroft’s tone clearly showed the level of horror he felt. “He’s invited me to _come round the pub_ , as he so charmingly phrased it, and it seems that _somehow_ , at some point, I agreed to…” His eyes were slightly panicked and there was a tone of quiet desperation in his voice. “… to attend a _sporting_ _event_ with him.”

There followed a long moment of silence, in which Sherlock suppressed his desire to burst into laughter. Mycroft would probably rather be water-boarded than go to a sporting event. Whoever this man was, he must mean quite a lot to his brother. Sherlock made a few quick deductions. Male. Class difference. Sociable. Beer and sports. Mycroft wouldn’t care about someone he’d just met, so it must be someone he’d encountered on a long-time, regular basis. Probably someone he’d spied on extensively, given his trust issues. Not likely from work but _must_ be work-related because Mycroft _doesn’t_ socialize. John-like…

“Lestrade!” He shouted triumphantly. His brother’s pupils widened, ever so slightly, and Sherlock knew he was right. “Oh, the _irony_ in that! Caught in your _own_ web. Your own little spy at Scotland Yard. I know you’ve had him reporting back to you all along.”

“Naturally. But I do want you to know this: He’s never _betrayed_ you, Sherlock. Not _once_. In the beginning, I had to _order_ him to cooperate, and it took some _years_ of effort on my part to win his trust. I eventually convinced him we had a mutual interest in your well-being. I was _friendly_ with him.” Mycroft sighed wistfully.  “I never intended for him to be anything other than just another asset, but I… Now find myself _caught in my own web_ , as you so graciously phrased it.”

“You made a fatal mistake, brother mine. You’ve _played the game_ with the wrong man. You’re used to dealing with spies, government officials and family members. You’re not used to dealing with… _good_. Lestrade may not be a particularly bright man, but he is a very _good_ one. If it’s any consolation, _both_ of us should be wary when dealing with the _truly_ good. One encounters them so rarely.”

“I’m not used to _caring_. Even worse, he cares. About _me_. I can’t begin to imagine _why_. It’s very disconcerting when one isn’t accustomed to that sort of thing.”

 _“I_ care about you. Generally speaking, of course.”

“Yes, well. Not the same thing, really.” He gave way to temptation and picked up a biscuit, nibbling it nervously. “It really _does_ have some parallels with you and Dr. Watson.”

“In what way?” Sherlock narrowed his eyes warily. This conversation suddenly had the potential of going in a direction he was especially unwilling to go.

“There’s a certain _tension_ … there are _moments_ when I…” Mycroft wasn’t used to struggling to find the words to speak. Usually, finding just the right words was one of his specialties. He sat up straighter and forced himself to meet Sherlock’s gaze. He knew he was treading on dangerous waters, conversationally. “Look, we both _know_ how things are between you and John. You’re much better at _controlling_ the physical reactions, but it’s patently obvious there’s a mutual _physical_ attraction…”

“STOP right there!” Sherlock thrust his hand out for emphasis. “The discussion of _my_ situation _ends_ with the relevance of your own. Since _you_ brought it up, _physical_ _attraction_ must be _relevant_ … What you’re really saying is that Lestrade is _physically_ attracted to you. _Lestrade?”_ He scratched his cheek, processing the idea. “Well, human nature never ceases to amaze. Lestrade? _Really?_ Are you _sure_ he’s _physically_ attracted to you? _”_

“Yes. He made _his_ interest quite clear.” Mycroft sat expressionless and perfectly still.

“Mycroft!” Sherlock was genuinely shocked. What Mycroft _hadn’t_ said spoke _volumes_. There had been no denial. “You _do_ mean _mutual_ , don’t you?”

“I… Yes, I’m afraid so. It’s all _very_ unexpected.” It was one of the most difficult confessions of his life. He looked to his younger brother, searching for answers. “It’s out of the question, of course, but I’m having some… difficulties deciding on a course of action. You’re _fortunate_ , you know.”

“Fortunate? How so?”

“You don’t have to face this problem. Lestrade isn’t reluctant to express _his_ feelings. I’m quite sure John Watson doesn’t even consciously acknowledge _his_ interest, but Lestrade… He’s informed me that he’s very attracted to _me_. Specifically. He’s apparently _quite_ comfortable with the idea that he’s bisexual.”

“Are _you?_   Bisexual, I mean. Do you even _know?”_ To Sherlock’s knowledge, his brother had exactly one romantic entanglement in his life; a youthful affair with an older woman that had gone spectacularly wrong in so many terrible ways that it had been thereafter only referred to as _The_ _Incident_. “Do you know _what_ you are, Mycroft?” 

“I’d rather prided myself on having achieved asexuality. Now, though, I must admit to some… unnerving evidence that I was a bit hasty in _claiming_ that label. After _The Incident,_ I set all personal thoughts about sex aside. It was surprisingly easy; more a relief than a challenge, really. It was all so long ago, I assumed it would never be an issue. Then we had a… a moment. I had a _moment,_ and _that_ is my issue. It’s all _very_ sudden. And _insidious._ That’s the worst of it; how my thoughts about him are becoming… _intrusive_. But to answer your question, by my _physical_ response, it _seems_ I may be bisexual. Or _possibly_ gay”, he confessed shamefully. He didn’t have any prejudice towards any of the many sexual orientations there seemed to be to choose from these days. To Mycroft, they were _all_ equally appalling. “What are _you,_ by the way? Do _you_ know?”

“Too small of a sample to establish anything definitive.” He sprang up and grabbed a cigarette from the secret stash in the Turkish slipper that he currently kept hidden under the couch, and gestured at the biscuits. “Seems only fair.” Sherlock settled back into his chair, taking a long drag while he decided how to answer. “I don’t know. I’ve felt an _intellectual_ attraction for certain people; Irene Adler for example, and Moriarty, of course, but _nothing_ I’d call physical beyond the excitement of the game. Like you, I suppressed any urges of _that_ nature long ago. That I _involuntarily_ display some indications of physical attraction regarding _one_ specific person is merely a… statistical anomaly.”

“Personally, I’ve always found statistical anomalies to be quite troubling. If your statistical anomaly were to express his interest in you, what would _you_ do? How would _you_ react?”

“I don’t know.” They were both a bit surprised at the honesty of his answer. Sherlock folded his hands in front of his face, considering the question deeper. “John’s a much more complicated man than Lestrade, although apparently even _he_ has depths I’ve failed to notice. But sometimes even I have… moments. No matter how good we get at suppressing our urges, it’s _never_ perfect, brother mine. Our goal is to be pure, rational, thinking machines, but we will always remain _biological_ machines, subject to the occasional whims of the moment. We’re human, and humans _have_ moments. If John caught me at one of those moments, even I can’t predict how I’d react with _absolute_ certainty. Luckily, I can’t imagine John ever _making a move_ on me, so you’re right _._ I _am_ fortunate in that. But since even John is human and we _all_ have moments, I understand why you’re so… unsettled.” He chose his words carefully, for once being considerate of his brother’s feelings. “I find it unsettling. For you it _must_ be… dreadful.” The word he’d avoided saying was traumatic.

“It _is_.” Mycroft looked miserable. “He makes me _feel_ … things. I don’t _like_ feeling things. _How_ do you deal with it?”

“It’s funny, isn’t it? Eurus is broken because she _can’t_ feel. Did you ever stop to consider the _irony_ in that, Mycroft? Most of what’s she’s done has been about her trying to _feel_ something she never will… to genuinely feel _anything_ , and here _we_ are, living our lives and denying our _own_ feelings as a matter of policy. We casually toss aside the very thing she needs most.”

“I’m _afraid_ , Sherlock. If I can’t control my feelings, I can’t control my thoughts. I don’t like losing focus.” He took a long look at his brother. “I can’t _afford_ to lose focus. I have indications that there may be trouble ahead; _profoundly_ disturbing trouble on a _global_ scale. I _need_ my wits about me and my mind clear, and I’m… distracted. I keep wondering about… _things_.”

“You’re showing _every_ indication of infatuation. You are _infatuated_ with _Lestrade_.” The concept was still sinking in. The idea that Mycroft would let himself become infatuated with anyone was truly startling. Sherlock suddenly understood why John had been so distracted when he thought he’d been sleeping with Janine. _“Mutually_ infatuated. With each other. _You_ and Lestrade.”

“Just… stop. I’m _terrified_ , Sherlock, and I need your advice.” He picked up another biscuit, sighed, and sat it back down. “I can’t focus on work. I thought of cutting off all contact. It _would_ be the _wisest_ move, but I don’t because I… I can’t bring myself to do it.”

“I don’t _know_ what to tell you, Mycroft. You’ve brought me a case that I do not have the knowledge to solve. But I’m… somewhat moved that you’ve chosen to come to _me_ with your… you know. Personal issues.”

“Useless as it was.” Mycroft smiled wanly. “And yes, I do see the irony in our situation. Our sister’s unfortunate condition might be good reason, perhaps, to question some of our long-held principles of personal conduct. It could be that in some situations, caring may be the _sanest_ course.”

“Are you sure you’re cut out for it?” Sherlock flicked his cigarette into the fireplace and frowned. “It’s quite difficult, this caring lot. It’s a very slippery slope.”

“One would assume so by _your_ example. You have all sorts of _friends_ these days.”

“I’m not sure how _that_ happened,” he shrugged. “It was _entirely accidental_ on my part. Despite my complete disregard for the social niceties, some people have grown to be _fond_ of me for some reason. That I _might_ have become… fond of them in return is not a subject I like to contemplate.” He contemplated the bottom of his tea cup instead. “We’ll _never_ speak of this again, of course.”

“I’d think that goes without saying.”

“Then I will say this, just this once. It _hurts_ , brother mine. Friends are all well and fine in the beginning, but… people _die_ , Mycroft. That’s something _you’ve_ always reminded me of. _All hearts are broken_. People die, and it _hurts_. People abandon you, and it _hurts_. I never understood the pain I put John through with my _death_. Then Mary died saving _my_ life, and I understood _then_ , because I _hurt_. It _still_ hurts. Finally understanding the pain I’d caused John _hurt_. And then John blamed me and abandoned me. And _that_ hurt even worse. Once you let someone in, being alone can become being _lonely_. And _that_ hurts.” Sherlock’s laugh was soft and bitter. “The most confounding part is that it’s still worth it, all the same. Despite all the pain, having John in my life; it’s been _worth_ it.”

“Dealing with all those disorderly little emotions… It nearly _killed_ you, as I recall. I wish I could understand how you manage to focus on _work_ with all these… _feelings_ of yours to manage. But then again, you _thrive_ on the brink of the abyss, little brother. I do not. You _create_ order from disorder. I make sure things _stay_ orderly.”

“So, you think _shagging Lestrade’s_ the _sanest_ course of action, but you’re worried because it’s not a very _orderly_ thing to do.” 

“…” Speechless, Mycroft ate another biscuit without really noticing until he finally tried to speak. He stuttered, took a sip of tea, and started again. “I have never in my life _longed_ for the dementia of old age before now. I wish I could forget the whole thing.”

“You’ve _tried_ , one assumes. To just tuck it away and forget about it.”

“Obviously. But mind palace techniques don’t work when the very architecture has been affected.”

“I’m familiar with the problem.” He shrugged. “Perhaps you _need_ a little disorder in your life.”

“Do you _really_ believe that or are you just projecting?”

“It can be both.” He already craved another cigarette, an urge he ruthlessly quashed. One was excusable but two were self-indulgent.

“Do you… _envy_ my position?”

“I’m not attracted to Lestrade, so… no.” He grinned. The conversation didn’t feel quite real to Sherlock, a fact he was aware of. Apparently, he and Mycroft both had secret crushes. Suppressing an urge to giggle, he wondered vaguely if he could be in shock. “We’re dangerously close to turning into a pair of teen-age girls, brother mine.”

“You know _exactly_ what I mean. Do you wish John would _say_ something?”

“I… might. A bit.” He was starting to feel restless. “I don’t _know_. Right now, I really rather envy John, who’s apparently much better at repressing things than _either_ of us. There _are_ things I’d rather not know; this _entire_ conversation, for example. I’m really beginning to suspect you’re only here to get my blessing, so you’ll have someone _else_ to share the blame if it all goes horribly wrong.”

“It hadn’t occurred, but I do suppose you have a point. It could be convenient if _Mother_ ever got wind of things. However, there _is_ an alternative explanation. It _could_ be that if I were to take certain actions that could _potentially_ have dire personal consequences, I’d like to know that my only brother will be supportive if I need... support.”

“I’m always supportive. Ish.” He sighed and rose, pacing randomly about the room. “But _yes_. If you have some sort of breakdown because you get you find yourself _getting your groove on_ with Inspector Lestrade, I will _be there_ for you. I’ll even bring the donuts. But I can’t give my blessings, if that’s what you want.”

“Not that I was _asking_ for them, but why not?”

“I can’t withhold them either, Mycroft. It’s simply _not_ my decision to make. There’s no such thing as blessings. It’s your problem, and you’re the one with the most information about it. I simply don’t have enough data. Feelings aren’t exactly _my_ area either.” He paused, grinning as an idea struck him. “If you have a problem involving feelings, Lestrade may well be your man.”

“You really _are_ enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Overall, no, but it does have its moments. So, was that all? You just popped round to ask my permission to date _Greg?”_

“I _do_ regret involving you in this. Quite a bit.” It was, coming from Mycroft, an apology of sorts.

“That’s very considerate of you. Neither of us like getting _involved_ in things.”

“Then I’ll leave you to… whatever it is you do.” Mycroft sighed softly as he rose, gathering his coat and umbrella.

“One thing… that potential crisis that had you so in need of comfort from Lestrade; what was it? An occasional breakdown under your desk, crying into your donuts, is _understandable_. Brilliant minds can be… fragile. We _both_ know that. But letting yourself get _caught_ in that state? You’re usually _far_ too careful for that. What could possibly have distressed you so, that you _let_ yourself get caught?”

“Oh, Sherlock…” The frown lines on Mycroft’s face deepened. “That’s a whole _other_ conversation beside which my own petty problems pale in comparison. You _do_ have a point, though. I may have subconsciously _let_ myself get caught because I needed… someone to catch me.”

“And the original crisis?”

“Let’s just say you’ll know it when you see it, little brother. It’s _world_ - _changing_. One day, _very_ soon, you’ll understand _exactly_ what… upset me. We’ll talk about it then, I hope. I need you to make your _own_ deductions and come to me. I need… outside verification.”

“Then I’ll let you know if I notice anything… world threatening. Now just _go_. I need to… do a thing. There’s somewhere else I need to be, doing… the thing. That I need to do.”

“I’ll keep in touch.”

“And _do_ keep the new spy on. The sandwich one. For John.” He all but pushed his brother out of the door and shut it firmly. Leaning against it, he slid down to the floor to think. After a few minutes of silence, he began to chuckle. The look on Mycroft’s face when he’d said _shagging Lestrade_ had almost made the whole uncomfortable conversation worth it.

He thought back over the past few weeks, trying to make some sense of the other things Mycroft had said. It was _important._ Mycroft’s visit wasn’t just about seeking brotherly advice. If it were, he’d have sent for Sherlock, not come here to Baker Street. He’d have wanted to be on his own territory. This was _more_. Much more.

It had also been a warning. He’d seen Mycroft coolly and ruthlessly deal with nuclear threats, terrorists and other general mayhem on a global scale for years. He had his work, as Sherlock had his. No ordinary threat could justify a breakdown on Mycroft’s part, so this threat must be an extraordinary one. A chill went through him. He’d had a strange few weeks himself, filled with mysteries that even when solved left him with uncomfortable questions.

Sherlock sprang up, grabbing his coat and scarf. He felt a sudden need for a very long walk.

\---

Mycroft’s sedan: (14 April, late afternoon)

He’d intended _not_ to take the call, but somehow, he found himself answering anyway. Lestrade had some cases he’d like him to see, and he _could_ have just told his driver to swing by and pick them up, but Greg had said something about wanting to have a chat. Mycroft hung up his mobile with the sudden realization that he’d _invited_ Greg over. To his _house_. He _knew_ he did; he heard himself say it. He’d called him Greg. He’d even mentioned drinks.

A moderate existential crisis and a good deal of anxiety occupied him for the rest of the ride home.

\---

Lestrade’s car: (14 April, early evening)

Greg felt oddly nervous. He’d known Mycroft Holmes for years; for almost as long as he’d known Sherlock. While their friendship had deepened considerably recently, this was the first time he’d ever been invited to Mycroft’s home. He felt a little intimidated. He considered how he felt a bit more carefully. _Intimidated_ wasn’t quite the right word. Disconcerted, that was it. He felt _disconcerted_.

He glanced over at his case, thinking of the growing stack of files it contained. There was a lot of disconcerting things in them as well; things _far_ beyond his understanding. Deciding what to do about _them_ was Mycroft’s problem. _Greg’s_ problem was deciding what to do about Mycroft.

He was in over his head with Mycroft. He’d been insanely attracted to the man for quite a while. It was a fact he freely admitted to himself. Greg understood a lot more than either Mycroft or Sherlock gave him credit for. His admiration for their intelligence had never blinded him to their flaws and weaknesses. He’d watched Sherlock change and grow after John Watson came into his life, and he’d seen how difficult each new emotional landmark in his development had been for him. Emotions were a struggle for their _high-functioning_ _sociopath_.

It seemed to him that emotions must be even harder for Mycroft. Sherlock was like dealing with a child, tantrums and inappropriate statements included. Mycroft was measured and self- contained. Except for his one, donut-fueled meltdown, he’d always been cool and controlled. Even in the aftermath of the harrowing experience he’d gone through at Sherrinford, he’d only seemed a bit shaken. Mycroft could be extraordinarily manipulative, a trait that Lestrade was better at spotting than Mycroft knew. He’d played along out of concern for Sherlock, but now… now things had gotten _very_ real. Somehow in the aftermath of Mycroft’s meltdown, a newly affirmed friendship had turned into an awkwardly intriguing homoerotic moment. He’d hidden his attraction to Mycroft for a long time, but it would be impossible now. The idea that someone with Mycroft’s level of intelligence was attracted to him in return was irresistible… and damned distracting. He just hoped it really was mutual. It had _seemed_ mutual in the moment, but with Mycroft he could never be sure about anything. Besides, it _was_ just a moment. Mycroft had been vulnerable and he might feel differently now. Greg decided the best course of action was to just bring it up. They had a crisis to face, and they didn’t need sexual tension getting in the way. Getting it out in the open and out of the way would be best. Mycroft would probably turn him down, shredding him emotionally in the process. He’d watched Sherlock do it so many times to Molly that it seemed a natural response to expect from his brother, and Greg tried to prepare himself for what he assumed would be inevitable. He wasn’t the type of man to press his attentions when they weren’t wanted, so once he knew Mycroft wasn’t interested, he’d be able to put it out of his mind. Then he’d suggest they never bring it up again, give him the files, and they’d be able to get on with work.

The house was exactly as he expected. It was a gated, grandly traditional manor, tucked away in a discretely convenient location. There was a manned security gate, and he was suddenly reminded that Mycroft Holmes was a man who could make people disappear. The guard at the front door wore a perfectly polished dark suit and, no doubt, a perfectly polished gun to match it, but he also had what appeared to be some sort of voodoo talisman consisting of nails and what Greg hoped was a dried chicken’s foot tied around his left thigh. Fuck it, he decided. If the whole bloody world was going mad, he’d take a shot and see what happened. Finding out the hard way was what he did anyway. 

He stepped into a dimly lit, cavernous room. The small bottle of lube he’d impulsively bought felt strangely heavy in his pocket. A pathway of lighting showed the way, eventually leading to an entirely tradition kitchen.

Mycroft was sitting at the kitchen bar, sipping a martini and wondering why he’d chosen that room for their meeting. It had seemed oddly appropriate at the time, but now he couldn’t quite place why.

\---

Mycroft’s kitchen: (14 April, early evening)

“Look, before we get into all… this,” Greg tossed the briefcase on the counter, bemused by Mycroft’s attempts to open a beer for him, and entirely unsurprised that it was his preferred brand. Seeing him in such a normal domestic setting seemed… surreal. _That_ was the word. Surreal. “Here, give me that.” He took the bottle and the opener and popped the cap off, then took a seat on the stool beside him. “There’s something that I wanna say. I think I need to get some things straight so that we can get on with…” He gestured at the briefcase. “…all that.”

A thousand cutting things to say rushed through Mycroft’s mind. He quietly sat his olive aside and waited for Greg to continue.

“Look, I _get_ the whole deductions thing. I can’t _do_ it, but I know _how_ it works. You see all my micro-expressions and… I don’t know, bits of _lint_ or something and… And dealing with you _or_ Sherlock is like dealing with a bloody psychic! I literally _can’t_ hide how I feel from you, and I’m _not_ like John. I’ll respect your feelings if you turn me down, but I’m attracted to you and I won’t pretend I’m not.”

“Why? Why _me_?” It hadn’t been at all what Mycroft had intended to say, but it was what he really wanted to know, and it all came spilling out uncontrollably. “Why _me_ , Greg? I’m not a personable man, nor a sociable one. I only became associated with you to entice you to spy on my little brother. I make a habit of remaining emotionally detached from any situation. I have my _work_ , and I will _always_ put that first, even over those I… care about. I _understand_ why people fall for Sherlock. I may be the _smart_ one, but _he’s_ the pretty one. I’m not… pretty, Greg. I’m a plain, unpleasant, middle-aged man, fighting a currently losing battle with both his waistline and his hairline, and I just do not understand _what_ you could possibly find… attractive about _me_.”

“Why _not_ you? You’re bloody _brilliant,_ and damned sexy. Look, I admit I like pretty. It catches my eye and it probably always will. But I’m not so shallow as all _that_. Mycroft, over my lifetime I’ve had several serious relationships, _including_ one with another man, _and_ one failed marriage. And they all, _every_ ex, no matter what else, had _one_ thing in common. They were all _smarter_ than me. Pretty might catch my eye, but smart is what I find _really_ sexy. Besides, you’re a lot hotter than you seem to realize. I’ve had a thing for you for long time.” He reached over and gave Mycroft’s hand what he intended to be a reassuring squeeze. Mycroft snatched it away, then sort of flopped it around uncertainly for a bit before carefully putting it back on the bar.

“Greg…” He sipped his martini, wondering suddenly why he drank them when he didn’t really like them. He decided he just enjoyed the cliché and then realized his mind was trying to scuttle away from the subject at hand by focusing on unrelated minutia. 

“It’s _alright_ , Mycroft. I _get_ that you’re uncomfortable letting someone get too close, or being touched, or… well, a _lot_ of things, really. The point is, I _get_ how hard this stuff is for you, and if want to say no, or set some boundaries, you won’t have any problems with me respecting that.”

“I…” He paused while the words sank in. “I _appreciate_ that, Greg, I really do. It is… _very_ hard for me. There are much bigger things on which we should be focused. You know that. I know that, but this… attraction is _very_ difficult for me, and very distracting.”

“So, I should dial it back, try to not to be so… distracting.”

“Ah. Yes, well, that’s the part that’s so difficult for me. I don’t think I _want_ you to _dial it back,_ as you put it. I think I want, and possibly even _need,_ to be… distracted. By _you_.” Mycroft stared randomly into the distance, unable to even look at Lestrade. He’d quietly concluded that he had no control whatsoever over what he might say or do next. “But I… I find myself entirely out of my area. I have no idea what to _do_ with… attraction.”

“What do you _want_ to do? What do _you_ want this to be?”

“If I knew, we’d both know!” Mycroft felt on the verge of hysteria, yet also strangely calm. It was, he decided, probably some form of mild disassociation. “I have no idea how these things proceed.” He spoke with a good deal more dignity than he felt.

“Well, generally _not_ like this”, Greg laughed good-naturedly. “But there’s nothing _wrong_ with that, you know. Not knowin’, I mean. Sometimes it’s best just to see what happens.”

“I can’t function that way, Greg. I need…” The word context died a miserable death in his throat. “I need _direction_. I need plans, and contingency plans, and information.” He looked searchingly at Lestrade. “I’m not exactly _relationship material_. I fear I’m…  rather damaged in that regard.”

“We’re all damaged. _I’m_ damaged. Hell, the whole bloody world’s been _damaged_ , and if it’s all gonna come crashing down on us, _you_ are the one man I want beside me. On _whatever_ terms you allow. You may be the only man alive who can truly make some sense out of what’s happening. You have the most brilliant mind I’ve _ever_ met and you’re trying to save the whole freakin’ world.” He leaned over, carefully crossing into Mycroft’s personal space. “And _that_ , Mycroft, is damn _sexy_.”

“I suppose it _is_ , when you look at it that way…” Mycroft froze, somewhat proud he hadn’t flinched. Greg was… very close. He found he didn’t mind nearly as much as he thought he would. “Maybe this would be simpler if you told me what _you_ want. I know you say you’re… attracted to me, but I… I don’t know much about that sort of thing. I know the basic _mechanics_ of the thing, of course, but is there _more_ to it? Is it just… what _is_ that phrase? _Friends with benefits_ , or…”

“Mycroft.”

“I’m sorry. Was I babbling again? I find that you make me babble and I can’t seem to control it.” His tone was faintly accusatory. The subtlety was lost on Greg.

“I love you.”

Mycroft felt a bit dizzy. He sat his glass down. He’d heard those words directed at him before, and he was astonished that they didn’t give him flashbacks. Greg reached out again, and this time Mycroft didn’t pull away when he took his hand.

“Don’t panic. That doesn’t mean I’m _in love_ with you. Yet. That comes later, _if_ it comes. But you’re my friend, and correct me if I’m wrong, but I suspect I’m your _only_ friend. We just happen to be attracted to each other; which, I admit, complicates things, but if you’re up for givin’ it a go, I most _certainly_ am.”

“There’s no part of that statement I can disagree with. Except the part about not _panicking_. I’m not giving any guarantees on that.”

“So,” Greg sighed, and got himself another beer while he sorted through what Mycroft had said. “Translated into plain English, you’re sayin’ sex _is_ on the table.”

“Theoretically.” Mycroft cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably on the barstool. His younger brother’s tendency to pace and fidget, after many years of annoying him, suddenly made perfect sense. _He_ wanted to fidget. “Practically, though, I can’t make any promises. There’s a good amount of self-conditioning to overcome. I do feel… certain desires for you, but when it comes down to the act itself, it just…the whole idea of it puts me off a bit.”

“Fuck.” Greg sighed, unsurprised but saddened. “Somebody did you right over, didn’t they? Look, you can if you want, but I don’t need you to talk about it. What I _do_ need is for you to understand is _that wasn’t_ _me_. I’m _not_ gonna screw you over. I’m probably not smart enough to anyway.”

“No. You’re not.” Mycroft smiled, slightly reassured by the thought. “You’ve made a good point there, really.”

“There’s a few _other_ points I’d like to illustrate. In detail.” It was work, talking to a Holmes without feeling like a compete moron, so Greg was a bit proud of that line. Unfortunately, the subtlety was lost on Mycroft.

“Such as?”

“Such as how about showing me around the place? I’d particularly like to see your bedroom.”

“Oh. I… _already?_ No! I mean… I mean, yes. I think I’d like you to see it.” Mycroft stood, expecting that he might, at any moment, have his first stroke. His own ability to walk astonished him.

\---

Mycroft’s bedroom door: (14 April, evening)

Greg was beginning to wonder just how big the house was when they suddenly stopped at what he assumed was the bedroom door. Mycroft seemed calm except for the look of impending panic in his eyes.

“You can _still_ change your mind.” Greg grabbed his hand, pulling him closer and wrapping his arms around him. “If you _want_ to.” He leaned in for a kiss, wondering how Mycroft would react.

Mycroft was wondering the exact same thing as he tentatively pressed his lips against Greg’s. The next few moments were a blur. There’d been kissing during _The_ _Incident,_ but it had been nothing like this. One moment he was contemplating the likelihood of a panic attack and the next he found himself nearly breathless, entirely lost in another person. There were consequences to what he was about to do, though, and one last thing he felt compelled to say before he let everything else go.

“You can still change _your_ mind. _This_ could be dangerous. I could be dangerous. It’s a bit like going mad, what we’re about to do. At least to _me_ it is. And madness is _dangerous_ in my line.”

“Just shut up and kiss me, Mycroft”

\---

Mycroft’s bedroom: (14 April, mid-evening)

The strangest part was how much clearer his mind felt afterwards. Clarity; he hadn’t expected _that_. Mycroft glanced over at Greg, who had dozed off, comfortably sprawled across a set of Egyptian linen sheets that probably cost more than he made in a month. One arm was draped possessively across Mycroft’s midsection. He should, he thought, feel trapped by it, and he wondered why he didn’t.

None of this had gone as he’d expected. He’d expected his body to rebel at some point; that old wounds would open, and he’d pull away, panicked and repulsed. He hadn’t. He’d expected some feeling of regret or fear in the aftermath, but he just felt… calm; calmer than he’d been in a very long time.

He _had_ expected Greg to take charge, and _that_ expectation, at least, had been correct. He’d gently but firmly guided the course of their lovemaking, and Mycroft had, much to his own amazement, happily surrendered to him. All his ever-constant worries and responsibilities had quieted under Greg’s warm and expert touch. He’d been certain that when it came down to it, the actual act of sex would be frightfully awkward. It hadn’t been. It had been… glorious. He’d expected it to be painful, and there had been a moment of pain, but even _that_ had been glorious. Greg had touched and caressed places only his doctor had previously seen, and it had _all_ been glorious.  Mycroft had done things he’d have found personally unimaginable, and his enthusiasm had overcome his inexperience. He’d been impaled on Greg’s cock, pinned to the bed by Greg’s strength and weight and silenced by Greg’s tongue in his mouth, and he’d never felt freer or more confident in his life.

He had a _lover_. Greg was _his_ lover. Various permutations of the phrase flittered through his mind as he became accustomed to the idea. Every conceivable way things could go horribly wrong occurred to him, along with all the ramifications and possible conflicts of interest that came with a man in his position having a Detective Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard as his lover. He could see it all. He could always see it all; it was how his mind worked.

If this was going to continue, it couldn’t be kept secret. There was far too much potential for blackmail for them both if it was kept secret. He wondered how Greg’s co-workers would react. His own colleagues would only be mildly surprised. The press might be a minor annoyance, considering Greg’s position, but only if there was some hint of scandal or secrecy. _Sherlock_ would be insufferable about it. Mother would be… _Mother_ , which would possibly be the _worst_ consequence of all. There were, in short, no less than sixty-eight distinct reasons why they should call this off right here and pretend it never happened. He looked at Greg’s handsome, honest face and decided then and there he would do no such thing.

“I have a lover,” he murmured. Greg stirred, half awakened. He snuggled closer and tightened his grip.

“Yeah, you do.” He yawned, looking at Mycroft with a sheepish grin. “Sorry about dosin’ off. If I’m not careful, I kinda fall asleep after.” He blinked, then looked over at Mycroft in concern. “Are _you_ still okay with this?”

“Oddly, very _much_ so. I _do_ have certain questions, however. There are a few details we need to iron out.”

“Yeah, I expected you _would_.” Lestrade leaned closer, giving him a quick kiss and was gratified by an equally quick response. Mycroft hadn’t gone back to being skittish about physical displays of affection. It was a good sign and Greg grinned happily. “Look, _lover_ , we’ve got a briefcase full of the impossible waiting on your kitchen counter that needs our attention. So, let’s iron out these details while we get cleaned up and dressed, and then get to work.”

“How odd. After all the colorful things we’ve just done, getting cleaned up together seems… strangely intimate. But, I _do_ like the practicality of it. We’re heading into a time in which I think practicality will be a _very_ important trait. I value that in you, _very_ much.”

“I love you too, Mycroft. Now get up and show me where the washroom is in the palace of yours.”

\---

Mycroft’s kitchen: (14 April, late evening)

They were now officially in a relationship. Greg had been surprising adamant about being open with the fact they were a couple. He’d also been adamant that they _were_ a couple. His arguments had been passionate but sensible, and Mycroft had found himself in complete agreement, even though it had all seemed to him to have happened very fast indeed. It wasn’t a bad plan, really. They would be casually open about it with friends and associates and arrange to be seen in public together in appropriately unremarkable places. In this day and age, it’d likely go ignored in the press. Mycroft found himself with several unanswered questions about what sort of duties and obligations came with being a couple, but Greg had just laughed and promised that would work itself out as they went. Mycroft decided he wasn’t surrendering control so much as delegating authority. Greg was the superior expert in matters of emotion, and Mycroft trusted him. _Trust_ was as far from his nature as love; _another_ thing which _should_ have frightened him. Instead, it felt… comforting. For now, he could set all those concerns aside and concentrate on the _real_ problem at hand.

He settled himself on the stool beside Greg, putting his martini aside to glance over the sticky notes posted on the various files: Possible Werewolf, Garden faeries, Psychics, Mediums, Ghost sightings, Assorted Other, Demons and Angels, Witches, voodoo and magicians, and Undead. A second note, attached to the latter file, read Confirmed Vampire. The last two files, both far too large for paper, glowed from the computer screen: Confirmed fakes and Probable fakes.

“You’ve been busy, Inspector.”

“Yeah, and half the department thinks I’ve gone a bit barmy. I’ve had to invent some higher-learning courses in psychology to cover for asking about these files. But when you accept that the supernatural does exist, fairly suddenly as it seems, every single case in those files fits the criteria you gave me. Half of them have some sort of forensic evidence that might be considered proof if the whole of the department wasn’t just dismissin’ it completely. That woman who claims her car was attacked by a werewolf? It wasn’t just a convincing set of claw marks. The thing left saliva as well. The initial report is there, but they decided the sample was contaminated and tossed it in the bin. I ran the report by Molly Hooper. She says it seemed human with some canine genes, but she couldn’t be sure because she’s not a geneticist. Then she said it was probably contaminated, and when I asked her why, she just laughed and said because it _has_ to be.”

“And with all the magicians and psychics and such, have you found anyone legitimate that you think we could work with, or rely on for knowledge in any way?”

“Possibly. Unfortunately, since it looks like most of their powers have only become real recently, and sporadically at that, most of them are…” Greg sighed. “There’re a bunch of complete and utter nutters. Some of ‘em certifiably so. They’re far more likely to become _dangerous_ than useful, really. Out of all of them, there’s three we _might_ be able to deal with. One of the mediums seems legit. She picked up that I was testing her right off, and she was real cooperative. She’s up front about her abilities not working every time and volunteered the fact that it recently had become a lot more real for her.”

“I’m assuming there’s a down side.”

“She’s _weird_. They’re _all_ weird, but she’s incredibly isolated. Other than her clients, she never sees anyone and never leaves the house.” He glanced at the file, making sure he got the word right. “Agoraphobic. She says there’s too many ghosts out there. She’s also got about 20 cats _and_ seems to have a bit of a thing for me.”

“See if she can hear anything on the wiretaps. I’d like to have those verified, if possible. And the other two?”

“There’s a magician. He couldn’t hold it long and the whole thing disappeared, thank God, but he drew a magic circle and summoned… something. _He_ said it was a demon, and judgin’ by what it looked like, I really can’t argue with him. But, he’s a drug addict with some serious mental problems. He’s in the psych ward for paranoid schizophrenia right now. Then there’s _this_ guy…” He reached for the file labeled Undead and slid out a separate, smaller file.

“The confirmed vampire.” Mycroft picked up the file, flicking through it.

“Yeah, and this guy… Mycroft, he’s the real deal. An honest-to-God, I-shit-you-not, vampire. He claims he got his powers last month by making a deal with the Devil. It seems someone I interviewed told him about me, and _he_ came looking for _me_.”

“Thomas Laurence Challenger. Quite an illustrious family history there.”

“Yeah, and a whole lot of money too. He claims to get all his blood strictly on the legit, and by what I can find, that’s true. He funds a damn blood _clinic_. The most I’d have on him legally would be some bullshit sanitation issue about blood in his fridge. He claims he _wants_ to help. That’s what bothers me the most. He’s a businessman, and he’s smart. _Really_ smart. He’s got every reason in the world not to come forward wantin’ play vampire detective, so he’s _got_ to be up to something. I don’t trust him. Plus, he’s dangerous. Sure, he’s cooperative to the point of showing me what he can do, but even knowing some of his vulnerabilities wouldn’t help much if he decided to turn on us. The bastard’s fast. Scary fast and scary smart. He may be our best choice, but honesty, he scares the hell outta me.”

“Hmm. I’ll have him investigated more thoroughly before we proceed. Despite his condition, the magician may prove the most useful. I’ll have him transferred somewhere more… convenient.” He flipped thorough the file. “David Edward Lowell a/k/a Raven Coalclaw, a/k/a Drake Bloodlaw, etc., etc.” He sighed, dropping the picture back on the small pile of psychiatric and police reports. The young man looked exactly as Mycroft expected a junkie magician with pretentions of grandeur would look. “The important thing is to find out what _system_ of magic he used. There are a thousand ancient, supposedly expert tomes on the subject, but nothing I’ve tested thus far from any of them works with any consistency. We still don’t know the most basic things. Even magic has to have a set of laws. It _must_.”

“Yeah, well, at least we know it’s _real_ , which is more than anyone seems to know. How’s _your_ situation? The only new thing I’ve got on fairies is another sighting, but that’s more your case.”

“The crew at the lab captured another specimen, but it crumbled into dust almost instantly, just like the others. They think it’s a form of suicide to avoid examination, but who knows? And while they’ll write up the reports, not a single one of them will _sign_ them. Not that I can entirely blame them. No one wants to put their career on the line.”

“And the ones in your back garden? I saw the thing on the guy at the door. What was that?”

“An experiment. With everything else in crisis, it seemed wiser to take precautions and work out some form of… stalemate with them for now. We’ve been leaving out saucers of milk and such, and thus far there have been no further incidents _._ The cameras are still completely ineffective. They just don’t show up on film, and quite frankly, with the staff problems they’ve caused, I’m just trying not to antagonize them further until I have more information.”

“Still, it’s gotta be creepy, knowin’ the little buggers are out there doin’ God knows what.”

“Yes, I suppose it is… _creepy_. One makes do… for _now_.” Mycroft’s smile was distinctly predatory. As soon as he found out how to eradicate them, he was planning a miniature genocidal war in his back garden.

“Mycroft, you probably already know what I’m gonna say, but we need Sherlock in on this. We need help; all the help we can get. I was already thinkin’ about talking to Molly Hooper. The next time I bring her something crazy, she’s gonna to start to wonder.”

“She seems a sensible choice.” Mycroft sighed. “Sherlock may need more time. He’s already got all the proof he needs, if he would just believe his own senses.”

“He’s going to think he’s gone mad, like you did.”

“I tried to warn him, but I know how he thinks. He’ll come to the same conclusion that I did. I told him to come to me, but he won’t, of course. I’m going to have a little chat with Dr. Watson about him.”

“And Mary… is she a hallucination or is she real? I’m assuming that’s the wiretaps you meant.”

“Definite proof would be nice, but I tend towards speculating that she’s real.”

“I have some cases I could run by him. Some of them… I dunno what to think.”

“Give it some time. I’ll let you know when, and which cases. Let’s see what happens with the Mary situation. I don’t want this to… break him the way it almost broke me. We _will_ need him, desperately. Sherlock Holmes _must_ face the impossible.”

“You’re worried about him. You do know I realize I’m not the only person that you love.”

“I never said I do.” Despite his attempt to look stern, a shy smile escaped.

“Yeah, but I’ve _deduced_ that you do.” Greg looked very pleased with himself. “You showed me your bedroom.”

\---


	2. A Leap of Faith

221B Baker Street: (14 April, early evening)

“Something’s off, John.”

“And it’s in the _kitchen!_ You and your body parts… I’m _not_ going to replace that microwave, young man.”

“ _Shut up_ , Mrs. Hudson!” He waved his hand dismissively, banishing her image from his mind. “I was talking to _John_.” John wasn’t there either, but Sherlock pictured him sitting there, just so, in his favorite chair. It was a mental technique he’d perfected over the years.

“Something’s _off_ , John.”

“You mean like you talking to me when I’m not here?”

“I mean, for example, _you_ talking to Mary when _she’s_ not here. You’re still seeing her, aren’t you?”

“No. Don’t be ridiculous. You’re the one talking to people who aren’t here. _I’m_ not here, Sherlock. You just shouted at Mrs. Hudson, and she’s not here either.”

“Deny it, then make some excuse to avoid it.” He collapsed into his chair, sprawling elegantly as he studied the ceiling. “Exactly the response I expect. And it’s an entirely different thing than what I do. You’re just a mental projection intended to utilize different elements of my own memory; just a part of my Mind Palace. This thing with Mary won’t _fit_ in my Mind Palace.”

“I should probably go pick up Rosie. Or the clinic’s called and said they need me today. Anyway, I’m making an excuse and I’ll be off now.”

“And there’s the rest of it.” He groaned softly in frustration as John vanished. “How _does_ one have this sort of conversation, anyway? Hello, John, do you think you might be going a bit mad? Oh, hello, and how’s your dead wife doing today?”

“He _won’t_ let you help him, you know. We’ve been through all this before. If you want to help _him_ , you have to convince him _you’re_ the one who needs help.”

“Mary.” Sherlock frowned at Mary, who was leaning against the mantlepiece, smiling at him in a fond sort of way. There was something disconcerting about her that he couldn’t quite place. Something missing; something that was always there when he “saw” John, or Mrs. Hudson. Something that proved she… didn’t fit. “Yes, I know _that_ all too well”, he muttered.

“I’m beginning to think you _do_ need his help. You’re _afraid_ of something.” She knew he’d been lonely. John had been away for days now, busy with work and Rosie, but it looked to her that Sherlock had deeper troubles than the usual unadmitted pining for John. “Is it me? It’s _me_ , isn’t it?”

“Among other things, yes. I’m… very concerned at the moment.” He’d worked it out. When he imagined someone in the room, it was if they were actually there, down to the smallest detail of shadow and reflection. Mary _had_ no shadow, and her reflection was absent from the mirror. _“I had a secret lover…”,_ he whispered. He sat entirely still, his mind racing through a series of small, inexplicable things that had occurred in the last couple of months. There was an undeniable pattern. Mycroft had said world-changing, and this was indeed world-changing. It was also impossible.

“What secret lover?” Mary laughed gently. “Do you mean Irene Adler?”

“God, no! No, it was a case last week… It’s something I _heard_ someone say. Go away; let me think. I need to think this through. Clearly and dispassionately…”. He leaned back, closing his eyes and dismissing her in his mind.

“You’re not just worried about John. You’re really very scared.”

 _“Why_ are you not gone? And I’m _not_ scared. I don’t get… scared.”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know how I’m here in the first place. And yes, you _are_ scared. Your hands are shaking.” She shook her head at him. “Don’t play Mr. High-functioning Sociopath with me. _I’ve_ seen your squishy side.”

“I don’t know if I should be more appalled by the fact that you’re still here or the suggestion that I have a… squishy side. The implication of either one being true is dreadful.”

“It doesn’t have to be all _that_ awful, you know.” Sherlock watched in fascination as she sat _on_ John’s chair. She made no impression in the cushions. He could clearly picture how it _should_ look, yet when he looked at her, there she was, seemingly hovering over the surface of the chair. “Look, one of these days, _very_ soon if _you_ don’t do something about it, I’m going to have a very long talk with you about you, John _and_ your squishy side. But if I’m right… there’s a much bigger issue here. You _are_ scared. And it’s not John… but what he’s going through with me _is_ part of it, and so is _this_ conversation, right now. That case you mentioned; the secret lover thing. What’s _that_ got to do with it?”

“Last week, I heard John arguing with you in the kitchen about hiring a live-in nanny.”

“And?”

“And I distinctly heard you call him an _idiot_. Which made him laugh, for reasons I cannot fathom, but that’s not the point. _I. Heard. You_.”

“I _did_ call him an idiot. You’re _both_ idiots, by the way. But that’s another story. What about the secret lover?”

“Nothing special. Lestrade brought me on the scene, I took a look around, and told him she’d had a secret lover. Standard jealousy-based murder from there, really. It didn’t even make the blog.”

“Except?”

“I do it all the time, you know. I walk onto scenes where it’s clearly apparent what’s happened if people would just take the time to really look. Then I just point out the obvious and even John and Lestrade look at me as if I’ve done some magic trick. I know because I _see_. You’re trained to see, so you must have _some_ idea what I mean. But not _this_ time. It wasn’t what I _saw_. It’s what I _heard_.” After a long sigh, he fell silent again and rested his head in his hands.

“Sherlock. Quit being a drama queen and act like a _detective_. Facts. Give me cold, hard facts. _What_ did you hear?”

“I have the distinct memory of a woman’s voice, whispering in my ear. I had a secret lover. No one else reacted to the sound. I blurted out she had a secret lover, and they just assumed I’d deduced it as usual. But it was more like some… random hallucination. It was also correct. And it’s not the only case recently that’s had a… bizarre aspect.”

“And what do you deduce from that?”

“Something that _does_ terrify me. Supernatural phenomena do not exist, so the only logical assumption is that any person who’s claiming to experienced some sort of supernatural phenomena, in this case me, is either lying, being tricked, impaired or deranged. I’m not lying, so we can eliminate that. It’s all too random to be some sort of elaborate prank… and who would have both the motive or opportunity for it? That leaves us with impaired or deranged as the only logical explanations.”

“Could it be a drug, like with Baskerville?”

“It had occurred, but no, I think not. The fact that John and I are both experiencing symptoms makes it worthy of consideration, but you are a strangely specific side effect. There were clear physical symptoms at Baskerville; increased fear response and elevated heart-rate. There’s none of that here. It seems incomprehensible that someone’s slipping us a drug that’s only effect is experiencing… supernatural phenomena.”

“You can’t even say the word, can you? _Ghosts_ , Sherlock. Maybe I’m real. I feel a bit real, actually.”

 _“There are no such things as ghosts!_ The most likely answer is that I’m deranged. Perhaps the last time I went _right into hell_ was one time too many. It’s quite probable I may have some sort of physical damage to my brain, causing hallucinations and perhaps even distorting my memory. For all I know, I may have just imagined John’s conversations with you. It’s also likely I’ve hallucinated an entire conversation with my brother. It would certainly explain much. I’m not a trustworthy witness in this case.” He jumped up suddenly, pacing about the room, awkward and restless. “When one perceives the impossible, the most logical thing to do is to question one’s own perceptions. Mary, _what_ am I without my mind? I rely on my senses; on my ability to see what others don’t. If I can’t believe the evidence of my own senses, then what do I do?

“Talk with John. You have to talk with John. He does see me. It’s not just you.” She’d never seen him so lost. “I know you think I’m just a hallucination, so you can’t take my word at face value, but you don’t think I’m real and I do. I _think_ , Sherlock. Hallucinations don’t think for themselves.”

“I can’t let myself think that you’re real. If I can’t sort delusion from reality, I’m doomed. I must be able to maintain control, at least publicly. If Mycroft gets wind of this, he’ll lock me up. You know he would.”

“He wouldn’t.” Mary frowned. “He would, wouldn’t he?”

“I’d do the same to him if I thought he’d gone mad. He’d be far too dangerous. As would I. I would have to say that I am _potentially_ dangerous.”

“Still disagreeing with you on this bit, but if you have gone mad, you’ve certainly not done anything I’d call dangerous. Not that I know of.”

 _“Potentially_ dangerous. Besides, how would I know with any certainty? Maybe I just don’t remember. Perhaps it’s progressive and I’ll become dangerous. I can’t tell what’s real anymore. Did Mycroft come by earlier? I don’t know! It certainly seems more likely to have been a hallucination, all things considered. Lestrade, indeed!”

“Just talk to John!” Sherlock was getting a bit manic, and she threw her hands up in exasperation. “There’s no point in arguing with you, of all people. But… consider this: if you are going insane and becoming a danger to society, who would you possibly trust enough to turn to other than John Watson?” She turned and stalked into the kitchen, vanishing slowly as she went. He imagined her standing by the mantle and there she was, reflections and shadows included.

“She’s right, you know.”

“Oh go away!” She vanished, just as he’d expected. That Mary was a part of his mind palace, but the other Mary… wasn’t.

Sherlock spent the next several hours curled deep in his chair. Without moving, hardly breathing, eyes closed, he revisited several cases in seemingly perfect detail. Most dismissed or unsolved, they all had only one thing in common. In each one, there was some unexplained element that would, to an illogical mind, seem to be supernatural in nature. Each individual case could be dismissed, put down to exaggerations or delusions on the part of witnesses and such, but taken as a whole they represented a distinct pattern he was convinced no rational man would believe. Balanced against believing in the supernatural, believing he was suffering from some psychosis was the only credible theory.

Mary was right. John was the only person he could trust. But John wasn’t there, and it hurt.

\---

Undisclosed location: (15 April, 12:38 AM)

“Look here, Mycroft! I’m a father now, and I’ve got responsibilities. Blogging about your brother doesn’t exactly pay my bills. It’s past midnight, and I’ve got a full day at the clinic tomorrow. And you can’t just kidnap my baby daughter along with me! It’s just not done. Even _you_ should know better.” John’s voice was an angry whisper. No matter how irked he was at Mycroft, the fear of waking Rosie kept his voice down.

“John, while I regret the necessity of including your child in this little… excursion, she’s certainly in no danger. She seems to be sleeping quite soundly. I just want to have a little chat.”

“At…” he peered at his watch, careful not to disturb his sleeping child. “At 12:38 at night, _you_ suddenly decide _you_ want to _have a little chat_. On the fourth floor of a vacant building. What awful thing have you done now?”

“I’ve done nothing.” He squared his shoulders, trying to look mildly wounded. “I want to talk to you about Sherlock.”

“You know, in most normal families, if you want to know how your brother’s doing, you just go ring round and ask him.”

“We’re not normal, John. Surely you must know that by now. And for the record, I _have_ gone round to see him, and I still have concerns.”

“About what?”

“I have reason to believe that very soon, he may go through a crisis of sorts. He’s not going to come to me with it, but I have hopes he’ll come to _you_. _When_ he does, I’m going to need you to _be there_ for him.”

“What _sort_ of crisis?”

“One that might push him to the very brink of the abyss… and beyond.”

“Could you be a _bit_ more mysterious, Mycroft? I _almost_ understood you.” He snorted softly. “Do they give you special classes in vague but ominous statements in spy school?”

“There are details am I currently unable to reveal.”

“Aren’t there just,” John muttered. “Don’t you already know? You’ve still got the place bugged, don’t you?”

“Only erratically. He’s become _extraordinarily_ good at finding them. It’s really quite impressive how quick he’s become. But I’ve heard enough bits and pieces to have some small reason for concern. For _both_ of you.”

 _“Both_ of us? Has some new arch-villain popped up? If we’re in some sort of danger, I _need_ to know everything, for Rosie’s sake.”

“I doubt she’s in any danger from her _mother_ at this point.”

“Her mother? How dare you? If this is some attempt at a joke, Rosie or not, I _will_ put her down over there and punch you right in the face.”

“There’s no need for violence, ill-advised though it would be. You and Sherlock have something in common that you haven’t discussed. _Several_ things, actually, but the most _important_ one involves Mary. I _know_ you still talk to her. I’ve heard the tapes. I’m _not_ judging you. I’m not judging _either_ of you. I’m far too cowardly to _admit_ to anything further at this point, but just do both of yourselves a favor and _tell_ him.”

“He’s lying! He can’t see me, but for some reason, he thinks _you_ can. He believes I’m _real_.” Mary had appeared behind John gradually. He grinned. She’d always been able to see through Mycroft. _“That’s_ what he’s too cowardly to admit.”

“You’re lying.” John knew he looked smug and didn’t care. “It’s not that _I_ might believe in Mary that has you concerned. _You_ believe in Mary. _Mycroft Holmes believes in ghosts_.”

“Why would I ever _admit_ to anything so preposterous? But consider how my _brother_ will react if _he_ comes to… believe in ghosts. _That_ is where your concerns and mine meet.”

“Considering how he reacted over seeing poor Henry’s hound, I can see how he might take that badly. Fine, I’ll keep an eye on him. I do anyway, but I’m _not_ your spy, Mycroft. Never, _ever_ that.”

“I don’t _want_ a spy, John. I’ve got _plenty_ of those. I want someone selfless and upstanding who’s foolish enough to stick around and keep him from… unraveling.”

“I truly don’t know if I should be moved or insulted by that statement.”

“Perhaps you might just sympathize with a deeply concerned but socially awkward man trying to have a difficult conversation about his little brother.”

“He _is_ good.”, Mary muttered quietly in John’s ear. “He looks like he means it.”

“I literally don’t ever believe a single _word_ you say, but I’ve become an expert in keeping Sherlock _raveled_. He’s my friend. My _best_ friend, and I am always there for him.”

“I’m sure that’s very touching, really.”

“You said we had other things in common that you’re concerned about. Like what?”

“Nothing worthy of discussion at this point. Perhaps you two will sort it all out in the due course of time. What’s important _now_ is his upcoming crisis. It _is_ inevitable.”

“You really _are_ worried, aren’t you?” John studied him, wanting to believe that somewhere deep inside, Mycroft was capable of caring. He wasn’t quite sure he _did_ believe, but he wanted to.

“I’m worried about _all_ of us. I should remind you that if he if ever _were_ to become unraveled, he could be very… _dangerous_.”

“I know that. I also know he’s the best and the most decent man I’ve ever known.”

“Sometimes one wonders if you’ll _ever_ admit you’re in love with him?”

“Dear God. As I’ve said many, _many_ times, I am not gay. And I’m a responsible adult now, Mycroft. I don’t want to play spies with you anymore. If you want to see me, do it like a normal person, during normal hours. I’m going to take my daughter home now. Please be a gentleman and don’t make me wait for a taxi with my child in the middle of the night.” Exasperated, John stormed off, but quietly. Rosie was fast asleep, and he wanted, very desperately, for her to remain that way.

\---

John’s bedroom: (15 April, 3:52 AM)

John laid down gingerly, expecting at any moment to hear his daughter’s cries. After a few moments of silence, he finally started to relax. Despite the melodrama that was dealing with Mycroft, he was tired, and too sleepy to worry about it. He’d think about it in the morning, he decided. He’d nearly drifted off to sleep.

“John. John! We need to talk.”

“Oh, God, Mary, not _now_. I’ve work tomorrow.” He peered blearily at the apparition of his wife, sprawled comfortably across the sheets on what had been her side of the bed.

“You’ll need to call in absent. Mycroft’s right. Sherlock _needs_ you.”

“And what shall I say? Sorry I can’t come in today because my wife’s ghost says the insane brother of my insane friend is right about him being insane?”

“Don’t be an arse… Oh! You called me a ghost! Does that mean we’re believing in me today?” She smiled brightly and hopped off the bed. “Now put the kettle on and let’s have that chat, shall we?”

“You’ve _really_ got to stop doing this; popping up at odd moments or in the middle of the night.” John rose, yawning, and trudged into the kitchen. “Or _I’ve_ got to stop doing it. I really don’t know _what_ to think about it anymore. Your being here, I mean. I wonder if Mycroft’s got this place bugged as well?”

“Probably. It seems the sort of thing he’d do.” Mary settled on a chair across from him at the table.

“Not a happy thought. So, what’s so important that you’d have me up in the middle of the night?”

“I know you’re still struggling with the idea that you’re not hallucinating, but _I’m_ convinced. I _am_ real. _Mycroft_ all but admitted he believes. More importantly, you’re _not_ the only one who can see me.”

“I know, but just because Rosie _seems_ to be able to see you isn’t really proof…”

 _“Sherlock_ can see me. I had a conversation with him, just before Mycroft had you kidnapped again. And you’re right, by the way. It’s time he stopped doing that.”

“You had a conversation with Sherlock? That’s new, you chatting with someone other than me. How’d _that_ go?”

“Yes, it is new. And it didn’t go well. As much as I hate to admit it, Mycroft’s right. Sherlock thinks he’s gone mad.”

“Because he had _one_ conversation with you? He talks to people who aren’t there all the time!”

“Yes, but he knows they’re not real. He can tell I’m _different_. So now, _he_ believes he’s seen evidence that ghosts are real. It’s not _just_ me; there was some _secret lover_ case he mentioned, but basically… Sherlock Holmes has seen undeniable evidence of the impossible, ergo Sherlock Holmes thinks the most logical explanation is that he’s gone mad. And that terrifies him.”

“It would.” John poured his mug and sat back down, thinking quietly to himself for a moment. “I know what that’s like, doubting one’s own sanity.” He looked pointedly at her and took a sip of his tea. He thought of Eurus and shuddered. “But for Sherlock, that kind of self-doubt _would_ be truly terrifying.”

“He _needs_ you John.” She sighed softly. “And _that_ terrifies him as well. He was horrified when I said he has a squishy side. So, you’ll need to approach him carefully and convince him he’s not mad.”

“By convincing him you’re real?”

“Basically. I know it would be easier to do if I just popped in with you, but that might be a bit too much, all at once.”

“Probably right. You _do_ know that I’m still on the fence about this whole _believing in ghosts_ thing, don’t you?”

“Fair enough. I was still a bit on the fence about it myself until tonight. You may need my help convincing him in the end.”

“Assuming we _can_ convince him, is that going to be any better? Because honestly, I think he’s going to freak right out. He _depends_ on things being rational. Your existence isn’t rational. Just imagine how he’ll react, finding out the supernatural is real. He’ll really go mad then. It’s _exactly_ what Mycroft was so worried about.”

“He thinks he’s turned dangerous, John! He’s afraid he’ll get locked up and he’s half decided he should be. He’s terrified and he’s all alone.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He stared unhappily into the depths of his mug. “I’m not even sure how _I_ feel about the idea that you… that _ghosts_ are real.” He glanced up at Mary. “No offense meant. I _do_ still love you, so _very_ much, and the idea that I didn’t really lose you; that you’ll be here to see Rosie grow up… it’s very seductive. I _want_ to believe that, very badly. But if you _are_ real, I’m just not sure _how_ to feel…  It’s all very confusing.”

“I know. I’m not sure how I feel myself. It’s very strange, you know, being a… ghost.”

“How so?”

“It’s hard to explain. I can’t touch anything; I’m just sort of here, then I’m not. When I left Sherlock earlier, all I remember is wanting to check in on you and Rosie. The next thing I knew, I was standing behind you. I have some impression that time passed between the two events, but absolutely no memory of _how_ I got from one place to the other. When I’m not appearing _somewhere_ , it’s as if I’m… _nowhere_.  I really can’t describe it any better.” She shivered slightly. “And nowhere is _cold_. It’s… disturbing to think about.”

“God, I just want to take you in my arms and keep you warm forever!” He was frustrated. He wanted to comfort her, but how could he when he couldn’t even touch her? “It’s cold, you know. When I tried to touch you, my hand felt… cold.”

“I know. And you felt warm. It’s the only physical sensation I seem to be _able_ to feel. I want to touch Rosie, but I don’t. I’m afraid to. I don’t want her getting cold.”

“I’m sorry.” The two sat in silence for a while. Mary decided now was not the time to unlock the mysteries of her own situation. They’d need Sherlock for that. She’d have to get John’s mind off her, and back on track.

“Mycroft was right about _everything_. You _do_ know that, don’t you?”

“What?” Surprised from his brooding, John just looked puzzled.

“You and _Sherlock_.”

“How many times do I have to say this? _I. Am. Not. Gay.”_   He sat his mug down a bit harder than he’d intended. The sound rang out and they both instinctively froze, listening. The house remained silent. “Thank God, I didn’t wake her. I cannot _believe_ I’m having this discussion, at this moment, with _you_ of all people.”

“It’s _alright_ , John. I know the fact that I’m still sort of here makes it a bit complicated, but I _did_ die, after all. So there’s nothing wrong with the two of you…”

“Stop that thought right there! There’s _everything_ wrong about it.” He paused, realized how he’d sounded and started over. “Look, if two people _are_ in love there’s nothing wrong with it. I’m not homophobic, but I’m not gay either, and I’m getting tired of hearing everyone _else’s_ opinion about _my_ sexuality. _I’m not gay_ means I’m not attracted to _men_ , and _Sherlock_ is a man. I know he is; I’ve seen him naked at Buckingham bloody Palace. So _that_ part is wrong. _And_ , I seriously doubt that Sherlock is even _capable_ of _romantic entanglement_ , as he calls it. _Also,_ I’m _positive_ he wouldn’t _dare_ let himself feel it if he did. So _that_ part is also _wrong.”_

“I admit he’d find falling in love terrifying. A _lot_ of things terrify him, apparently.” She smiled, choosing her words very carefully. “But he _is_ in love with you. I knew it the moment I met him. And you’re right. He wouldn’t _admit_ it, even to himself. Just like someone _else_ I know.”

 **“…”** Too irritated to trust his ability to keep his voice down, he settled for glaring loudly.

“John, I know you’re not gay. _But_.”

“But. What?”, he growled.

“But you do find him a _bit_ attractive.” She shrugged. “Just admit it. The world won’t end if you do, I promise.”

“I don’t!” He said it very fast. It felt as if he’d said it _too_ fast. “This is ridiculous. I sometimes wonder that I don’t drink more. Here I am, up in the middle of the night, trying to convince my _dead_ wife that _I’m not gay_ because she’s apparently trying to _fix me up_ with _Sherlock Holmes!_ Dear _God_ , if I don’t end up losing my mind in all of this, I’ll have proven I’m the sanest man in England!”

“You _are_ handling things very well, all things considered.”

“Am I? I don’t feel as if I am.”

“Well, you are. Because _you’re John Watson_.”

“What is that even supposed to mean?”

“Sherlock Holmes needs you, so go be there for him.”

“It’s nearly dawn anyway.” He sighed. Death hadn’t made her any easier to argue with, and he bowed to the inevitable. “Mrs. Hudson should be up soon. I’ll have to leave Rosie with her. She’s the only one available.” He rose, looking longingly at the whisky bottle. He really just wanted to get drunk but he had Rosie to think of. Instead, he got up, rinsed out his cup and headed to the shower. Mary was right… except for one thing. “Still not gay, so don’t think you’ve won.”

\---

221B Baker Street: (15 April, early morning)

“I’m so glad you’re here! He’s in a state this morning. He was still up when I brought up his tea. Second day in a row, too.” Mrs. Hudson almost always seemed to be glad to see him, but today she looked delighted. It was never a good sign. “Oh, she’s growing so fast! Here, hand her over and pop up to see him.” She took the baby, along with the obligatory Bag of Necessities, and turned her attention entirely to Rosie. She practically shut the door in his face.

“Not a good sign at all.” He went upstairs, his feeling of dread growing as he approached the door. He paused a moment before knocking, feeling suddenly faint. He could hear his own heartbeat, far too loudly. The moment passed, so he wrote if off as exhaustion and rapped on the door.

After a while with no response to his increasingly loud knocks, he took out his key and let himself into the flat. Sherlock was huddled in his chair, cocooned in a frayed, garishly colored afghan of dubious cleanliness. He looked lost, and he’d obviously not eaten, slept or shaved. His eyes looked dark against his pale skin, and his cheekbones were sharper, his hair disheveled. John felt a sudden urge to hug him, which he completely ignored. Instead, he took off his coat and settled into his chair.

“John.” Sherlock’s eyes suddenly focused, but his voice was strangely flat. “Are you real? Why are you here? You had work today. Did you have work today or am I just… misremembering that?”

“Yes. I’m _real_. I did have work, but I thought it was time for a day off.” He studied Sherlock carefully, trying to gauge his condition but failing. He didn’t _seem_ high, but with Sherlock, it was hard to tell. “Why are you asking if I’m real? Have you been… hallucinating? You’ve not taken anything, have you?”

“No, I’m clean. Unfortunately so, all things considered. Have Molly test me, if you’d like.” His voice sounded more normal. Sherlock had been dreading this conversation, but in the moment it all seemed very simple. He felt strangely calm. John would know what’s best. “And yes. I’ve been both seeing and hearing things that aren’t… that _can’t_ be there. Having eliminated all _other_ possible explanations, the only logical deduction is that I’m delusional. Probably paranoid schizophrenic.”

“I… Mary sent me.”

“What? Say that again. And explain what you mean.”

“Mary _sent_ me. I mean you’re _not_ crazy. I _mean_ that I’ve been up all night, which you can probably tell by looking at me, because suddenly both _your brother_ and _my wife’s ghost_ are _concerned_ about the state of your mental health. So here I am.”

“So, either you’re an especially vivid hallucination or we’ve _both_ become delusional.”

“I can hit you, if that would help.”

“That might be a good… wait. _Mycroft_ is concerned about my mental health? What did he say, exactly? I don’t _want_ to be locked up, John.”

“Sherlock, Mary’s real, and Mycroft _knows_ it. He knows I’ve been talking to her; he’s got us bugged again, by the way, and he all but admitted that she’s _not_ a hallucination.”

“You’re telling me my _brother_ believes that Mary’s ghost is…  real?” Sherlock sprang up, quickly kneeling to inspect the area around John’s chair. The afghan was wound around him like a Roman toga and despite its garishness, there was an air of dignity about him. “Ah ha! Crumbs!” He snatched one up and popped it in his mouth. The air of dignity disappeared. “Mycroft _has_ been here! Quite recently, too.”

“He _said_ he had, and… Sherlock! Pay attention! This is _important_. Mary said you’d mentioned a case to her, the secret lover thing. And something about calling you… squishy?”

“I’m looking for clues, John.” He sat on the floor right where he was; uncomfortably close for John, who shifted a bit further away in his chair. Sherlock was staring intently at the tea tray and didn’t seem to notice. “ _Three_ biscuits, very telling. And Mary _couldn’t_ have told you anything because _ghosts don’t exist_. She is however, correct. I did mention a case, and she _did_ stoop so low as to accuse me of having a… squishy side.” He chuckled, somewhat insanely. “Apparently, she’s wrong. _I’m_ not the squishy one.” He lunged suddenly, taking a long deep sniff of the fireplace. “ _Definitely_ not the squishy one.”

 _“What_ are you on about?” John suddenly decided that since Rosie was safely with Mrs. Hudson, being the responsible, adult one could go to hell. He got up and poured himself a drink. “Are you even listening? _Ghosts are real!_ Mary was _here_ , earlier. She specifically mentioned the secret lover case, so what was it?”

“Mycroft and Lestrade! The world _has_ changed, hasn’t it?” He grinned, almost maniacally, then suddenly just deflated. He slunk back and flung himself into his chair. “I knew the victim had a secret lover because her _ghost_ whispered it to me. Then I had a conversation with Mary. I’m seeing ghosts and ghosts don’t exist, so having eliminated all other possible answers… _delusional_.”

“I thought it was _odd_ , you know, when you wouldn’t explain your deductions on that case. I usually can’t shut you up about it.” He took a good bracing swallow of his drink. “Look, Sherlock, you’re going to have to face the truth. You’re _not_ delusional, and neither am I or Mycroft. _Mycroft_ believes it, Sherlock! Ghosts are _real_. We’ve _both_ seen Mary and you’ve seen a second one. So we know of two. It’s not a reason for panic.”

“ _Not a reason to panic?_ How easy it must be, being you…”

“It’s harder than you’d imagine,” he grumbled.

“Ah, well, you _do_ have _me_ to deal with, so you may be right.” They both chuckled, and for just a moment, things felt almost normal. “But it _can’t_ be true. I think I _am_ going to need you to hit me. Just a little bit.”

“What?”

“I need _some_ confirmation that you’re really there.”

“Sherlock… Is that really necessary?”

“Absolutely. This whole conversation could be a hallucination reinforcing my psychosis.”

“Well, any excuse to hit you, I suppose…” John stood, looming over Sherlock, drink in one hand. He felt very awkward. Sherlock currently had a fragile quality about him that made hitting him much less fun than he’d usually have pictured, and he ended up half-heartedly swatting his cheek.

“Harder.”

“This is profoundly disturbing.” He slapped him harder, leaving a faint red mark. “Better? Or do you want me to give you a beating?” It made John think of Irene Adler, and there was a long, uncomfortable moment of silence before Sherlock finally answered.

“It should suffice, for now. Thank you.” He sat quietly for a moment. “The supernatural _does_ not exist because it _cannot_ exist. There _must_ be a rational explanation.”

“Well, maybe there _is_ a rational, even scientific explanation. Maybe… some kind of quantum reality thing or a… phased alternate dimension or… or something along those sorts of lines.”

 _“This_ is what comes from watching _science_ _fiction_.” Sherlock glared contemptuously. “I’ve warned you about that. You have _no idea_ what you’ve just said. You’re just babbling random sciencey things at me.”

“A bit.”, he admitted ruefully. “But I _do_ believe. And so does Mycroft, if he’d only admit it; which he practically did.”

“Apparently Mycroft believes in all _sorts_ of things these days.” He rubbed his cheek, then visibly changed his train of though. His voice went from thoughtful to filled with scorn. “Shall we start believing in witches now, John? Werewolves? Goblins and fairies and little elves that make shoes in the night?”

“Maybe. Who knows? What if we _did?_ Would it _really_ be so bad?”

“It would be _monstrous!_ How can you _not_ comprehend that? If the impossible were to become possible, how would we ever know _anything_ with certainty? You are talking about throwing away the very _laws_ of reality as we know them.”

“And if we did? What then? Mycroft’s not worried that you’re delusional. He’s worried you’ll go off the rails when you _do_ finally believe me. Because _he_ believes and he’s worried that when you do too, you’ll become… how _did_ he put it? Unraveled.”

“An accurate deduction on his part. I _am_ a bit… _unraveled_.” Sherlock suddenly glanced back at the tea tray Mrs. Hudson had left earlier. He rose, the afghan falling languidly off as he stood. He was barefoot and clad only in something that might have been, in some previous incarnation, pajama bottoms. They were disturbingly close to transparent. “How did he look?”

“What? Who?” John was staring. Gradually, the part of his mind that wasn’t staring at Sherlock’s arse realized he had, indeed, been asked a question. _And_ he was staring. At Sherlock’s arse. Trying to ignore the why of it, he took a sip of his drink, stalling while he collected himself.  “How did _Mycroft_ look? Like he always does, I suppose. Frankly I was a little too irritated to pay that much attention. I’ve had about enough of him kidnapping me every time he wants to chat about _you_. Oh, he’s put on a few pounds, I think.”

“So I noticed. Was his _tie pin_ straight?”

“His tie pin? I have no idea. Why would you even ask?” Confused by the conversation, he thought better of the question. “Never mind, I probably don’t want to know.”

“I’m _quite_ sure you _don’t_. But his manner; he seemed… calm? He wasn’t… _distracted?”_

“Mycroft? Mycroft’s _always_ calm. He didn’t seem distracted, just concerned about you, but he’s so manipulative I _never_ know if he’s being genuine or not. I don’t even know if _he_ knows when he’s being genuine. If he’s even capable of it.”

“Well, he’s _Lestrade’s_ problem now.” He cocked his head, lost in speculation for a moment, then turned his eyes on John.  “John, how do you know _I’m_ capable of being genuine? You know I’m perfectly capable of faking emotional responses when it’s to my advantage. It _is_ a family trait, after all.”

“I know that. I remember Janine _all_ too well. And since you asked, I think you’re always a bit manipulative, even when you are being genuine. It’s just…. a character flaw, that I accept as part of who you are. I just let myself have faith that under all the manipulation, and the cheek bones and drama… so much drama!  Underneath all that, you’re my friend and a good man.”

“And it’s just that simple for you, isn’t it? Sometimes, I _do_ envy you, John.” It was a phrase that was said often enough and with enough scorn that John was generally annoyed, but this time Sherlock had sounded wistful and… forlorn.

“Maybe it _is_ easier for me. God knows, I’ve spent enough time in therapy to have some insight. You have to _let_ _go_ to have faith. You do realize we’ve _both_ got… control issues.”

“Obviously. So I ask you, given your control issues, _how_ do you just let go and have faith? Mycroft asked me something very similar and I didn’t have a good answer for him. I genuinely don’t know _how_ to do that. What is the actual procedure for _letting go_?”

“There’s not a procedure…” Finally realizing that the conversation had a deeper meaning than just his own faith in Sherlock, he chose his words carefully. “I have a choice. I can choose to live in a world where you are my best and most trusted friend, _or_ I can live in a world where you’re just a narcissistic, _high-functioning sociopath_ who’s manipulating us all. I _choose_ the former. And yes, it’s that simple.”

“I am dangerously close to some emotion that _may_ , by Mary’s definitions, be considered… _squishy_.” Sherlock settled in his chair, casually graceful.

“You really _don’t_ get it, do you?” John sounded sad. “Do you have _any_ level of faith in _me_ , or can you just read me so well you don’t have to?”

“I’ve never thought about it.” Sherlock sat quietly, thinking about it, while John looked around for something to stare at other than a half-naked Sherlock. “I’ve never looked at our… partnership in quite that way. I made my initial analysis of your character and habits, of course, but I think that somewhere along the way I have come to have a sort of… faith in you that exceeds my ability to know absolutely.”

“That’s your way of saying you believe in me, is it?”

“Yes.”

“I am _dangerously_ close to an emotion.” John sounded sarcastic, but he actually did feel dangerously close to an emotion. He wasn’t at all sure which emotion, but it did feel dangerous. And possibly profoundly disturbing. He decided a second drink was probably a very bad idea, and he was definitely going to have one.

“It _is_ more your area.”

“So, you’re hopeful then? Because you’re capable of faith?”

“I wouldn’t phrase it in such a ridiculous manner, but in a manner of speaking, yes. And because apparently, so is Mycroft.” He fell silent for a while, obviously deep in thought.

John stared, wondering, as he often did, what was going on behind Sherlock’s pale eyes. He realized that he was staring at him again, and that it was becoming a habit. He stared down into his glass instead, mostly because it seemed the thing to do at times like this. Did he usually stare at Sherlock? He decided he blamed Mary and Mycroft. He polished off the rest of his drink. “Does it frighten you that much, having faith in someone other than yourself?”

“It’s a bit terrifying. And before you say it, _yes_ , we’re all quite sure my mother has much to answer for.”

“I guess it’s all in how you look on it. It’s a bit exciting, isn’t it? Taking that leap of faith.”

“Is it?” He sounded dubious.

“I took a leap of faith the first day we me. I’ve never really thought about it, but our first meeting, that first case… It was _crazy_ , and any sane man would’ve left, but I just… _believed_ in you, right away. I took a leap of faith that day, and it was exciting. Proposing to Mary felt the same way.” When he realized how what he’d just said might have sounded, he flushed red, suddenly mortified. “Not the _same_ , not like… like _that_ … I just meant they’re both examples of me taking a leap of faith in someone.” It occurred to John that this was rapidly becoming one of those conversation where both participants should be at least a little drunk. He poured a drink for Sherlock and stalked over, handing it to him. “Proposing was definitely much more terrifying. Here. Just drink it. _Trust_ me. You may not want it, but you do _need_ it.”

“Is that your medical recommendation?” He grabbed John’s arm, his long fingers brushing across his wrist. The glass slid into his hands as John jerked away.

“It’s a bloody prescription,” John grumbled, retreating to the relative safety of his chair.

“And _how_ does this help?” John watched with amusement as Sherlock took a large swallow with a defiant air, then struggled not to cough.

“Well, _I’m_ not drinking alone in the AM of a weekday. And that makes _me_ feel better, so I find _that_ helpful.” John laughed, somewhere between amused and nervous. It might, he thought, be best if Sherlock got dressed, and he wondered why he felt so nervous. It never occurred to him that the two things were connected.

“Fair enough. But in that spirit, I don’t want to hear a word of condemnation.” He dug out the Turkish slipper, which he’d moved to under his chair, and lit a cigarette. He draped himself across his chair, eyes sharply fixed on John.

“I think certain concessions might be made.” John shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. He tried to look away, but there was something hypnotic about Sherlock’s eyes at times.

“John…” He leaned forward seductively, watching John’s pupils widen. “As much as I hate to admit this… Mycroft _is_ the smart one.” John visibly relaxed at the mention of Mycroft. Telling. John still hadn’t noticed, but his subconscious had. “He found the pattern first. He usually does, that’s nothing new, but _he’s_ … adapting. Apparently quite rapidly.”

“The pattern?” John asked patiently, knowing that Sherlock would eventually get around to making sense.

“Something’s changed in the pattern, fairly recently. When I look at it, at every stage, there’s a point where logic as we know it fails. It’s not just Mary, and it’s not just ghosts. And if Mycroft’s aware of it, it’s a much larger problem than I first thought. John, the world as we know it _no longer exists_. If we’ve gone mad, Mycroft will see we’re safely locked away, and if Mycroft’s gone mad, we’re doomed. Since my delusion seems both persistent and shared, I might as well accept it as true and act accordingly. I am choosing to take a _leap of faith_ and accept the principle that the supernatural exists.” He leaned as close as he could without leaving his chair. John’s eyes trailed uncontrollably down Sherlock’s lean bare chest; his pale skin marked by reminders of past adventures. Each scar was a story, and it was only when his eyes began traveling lower did he realize that once again, he was staring at Sherlock. Sherlock had been speaking, and he had no idea of what he’d just said.

“What? I didn’t… I didn’t quite catch that.” Blushing furiously, he leaned into the furthest reaches of his chair and set his drink aside. “A bit too much, maybe.”

“I think so, yes.” Sherlock sat back, pulling the afghan over him as an afterthought. “I said it was ironic.”

“Ironic?”

“That Mycroft is the fortunate one. Never mind, John. It doesn’t matter.” Sherlock contemplated, for an instant, the differences between John and Lestrade. He sipped the whisky carefully, wondering if forcing him to admit the truth would be painful for John. Seeing him deny it yet again would most certainly hurt, but it was a pain he’d learned to ignore.

“Sherlock…” John wasn’t sure how he’d thought Sherlock would react, but this mournful acceptance wasn’t it. “Are you _alright?”_

“Surprisingly more so than I should be. I suppose I’m a bit… _distracted_.”

“Over what? Perhaps I can help.” He was a bit offended when Sherlock laughed, but dismissed it as unworthy.

“Did Mycroft tell you what he and I discussed?” He knew his brother had done no such thing, but he suddenly wondered how John would react to the news.

“No, he just said he was worried about you, and that there was some crisis coming up. I assume he meant this one.”

“He did, but he had another excuse to drop by. You’re sure he didn’t seem… not quite himself in any way?”

“He was very much himself. Why do you keep asking? Are you worried _he’s_ gone mad?”

“ _Gone_ mad? That’s relative with Mycroft. I asked because if he was calm, in control and not distracted, then I _know_ what solution he chose.”

“Solution?”

“Lestrade.”

“Could you at least talk in complete sentences?”

“I’m not quite sure I can. Did you know Lestrade’s bisexual?”

“Greg’s bi?” He gaped for a moment, then shrugged. “I’d have never thought it, but you never know about people. What’s that got to do with Mycroft?”

“ _Everything_ , apparently.”

“What?” The implication was so unimaginable that it hadn’t quite sunk in.

“Oh, dear God, John! Are you _really_ so dense?” Sherlock growled angrily. He stood, shaking off the afghan and stalking over to the sofa to get his dressing gown. He could feel John’s eyes on him as he walked across the room. Agitated, he snatched it up and shrugged it on. “They _fancy_ each other. People have urges. Even Mycroft is human, much as he likes to make you think he isn’t. We’re _all_ human.” He wheeled around to glare at John. “Even me. Even _you_. I’m going to get dressed. We have things to do. You might want to catch a quick nap.”

“Wait! You’re telling me that Lestrade and… and _Mycroft_ are… are..?”

“Probably _shagging_ by now, knowing my brother. He’s not one to put off taking action when he gets _obsessed_ about something.”

He left John sitting in stunned silence, trying to wrap his mind around the concept. He just couldn’t imagine Mycroft in any sort of… situation like _that_. He shuddered a bit at the proximity of _Mycroft_ and _shagging_ in his mind. It left one enormous, unfathomable question.

“Dear God, Greg… _why?”_

\---

221B, Baker Street: (15 April, morning)

“Look, Sherlock, I don’t mind running errands, but Mrs. Hudson’s made it clear that I’ve _got_ to pick Rosie up by one. I’m going to take her home after. Molly says she’ll take her tonight; she’s got her tomorrow anyway, so I’ll be back as soon as she gets off work.” He looked at the long, rather odd list. “And where on Earth am I supposed to buy a dried human hand? Do I _want_ to know why we need one?”

“Sorry, wrong list.” Sherlock snatched it back, presenting a bank card and another list. It was no less long or odd, but there were, at least, notations as to where he should go.

“What’s all this for then?” He stared down at the list. Other than some stereotypically arcanely-titled books, there was a long list of bizarre items. “Powdered _monkey toes._ Really? We’re just jumping _right into the deep end_ with this whole magic thing, then?”

“It’s an herb, and yes. We’re going to perform a series of experiments designed to provide empirical data. Even magic _must_ have laws, John.”

“And we’ll be need a… a live _toad_ for that, will we?”

“For the toad’s sake, let’s hope not, but best be prepared.” Sherlock popped his collar up, grinning wolfishly. “I’ll see you later then. I’m off to have a little word with Scotland Yard.”

\---


	3. No Man's an Island, Sherlock

Crime Scene: (15 April, morning)

“Greg.” He’d been standing on the street outside a crime scene, lost in thought and about to light a smoke, when Sherlock had appeared behind him and spoke. Startled, he jumped, fumbling with his cigarette.

“Bloody hell, Sherlock!” He lit the cigarette and turned around, chuckling. “You’re worse than havin’ a cat around. Try not to sneak up on people on a crime scene, okay? It’s dangerous.”

“I’m not the one treading in _dangerous_ _waters_ , Greg”, he solemnly intoned. Sherlock was, as always, posed dramatically, the sun at his back and his coat collar flared. His tone was deadly serious, and his eyes flashed like steel. Greg was suddenly reminded of the first time he’d met his former father-in-law, and the urge to burst out laughing was nearly overwhelming. He took a long drag off the cigarette instead, grinning.

“So, we’re sticking with _Greg_ now, are we? Done with pretending you don’t know my name?”

“You know _exactly_ why I’m here.” Sherlock glared accusingly, but Greg just leaned against his car, shaking his head, still smiling. “Oh, come on, _don’t_ make me say it out loud. _Greg_.”

“I take it you know about me and Mycroft. So _now_ what? You here to play the over-protective brother? What next? Ask me what my intentions are? Tell me that you’ll kill me if I break his heart?”

“Yeah, a _bit_ like that.” Sherlock shrugged and strolled over, hopping up on the bonnet. He scrunched up his face, looking at Greg curiously. “Do people really _do_ that?”

“My ex father-in-law threw a meat cleaver at me, first time I met him. Missed my nose by about an inch.”

“Could have been worse, then.”

“Yeah. Look, I get why you’re worried about him. You may not think it, but I _do_. I’m not a _complete_ idiot. I’m not gonna hurt him. Don’t you think I realize how bloody fragile genius can be?  And unlike _you_ , I actually know how to treat someone who’s been traumatized. I love your brother, and more than that, I’m _good_ for him.”

“Touché, _Greg_. I grant you that in my _personal_ opinion, _you_ are good for Mycroft. But have you asked yourself if _he’s_ good for _you?”_

“You know,” Greg’s brow furrowed, and he snorted with irritation. “The _funny_ thing is, I keep having _this_ conversation. Everybody, including Mycroft, seems to feel the need to point out how _dangerous_ he is. How does no one get that I _know_ that? He’s the most dangerous man in England, an’ proud of it. So what? I know _exactly_ what he’s capable of. I just don’t care.”

“Why ever not?” He looked curiously at Lestrade. This was the sort of purely emotional reasoning that Sherlock found to be both fascinating and repulsive.

“Because, Sherlock, when you’re in the process of falling in love with someone, you see past the little things like that. _That’s_ how _love_ works.”

“He’s perfectly capable of having you eliminated if he thinks it’s for the best. Even now. It’s hardly what I’d call a little thing.”

“So he’s _dangerous_. _Life’s_ dangerous, my _job’s_ dangerous… so it makes sense my _boyfriend’s_ dangerous too. I love ‘im anyway. Maybe love’s a mystery to you, and maybe it isn’t, but in the end, Mycroft is _worth_ whatever risk or effort it takes. I think I’m a damned lucky man to have _him._ He’s the most amazing person I’ve ever known, and if I’ve got a chance to spend my life with him that’s a chance I’m gonna take. _And_ I get how things are with him, which makes _him_ damned lucky to have _me_. People need to have someone there for them, Sherlock. Even _you_.”

“Yes, well then… carry on, Greg. Tell Mycroft that I give my blessings after all, and that I look forward to having you at our next family gathering.” He hopped off the car and sauntered down the street. He wondered if John would ever say anything like that about him. He wondered if he wanted him to.

\---

Curious Goods: (15 April, Noon)

As the heavily tattooed young man behind the counter carefully wrapped brown paper around a small, elaborately carved wooden box, John struggled not to laugh. Aside from the tats covering nearly every inch of exposed skin, he had white contacts in his eyes, enough piercings to melt down and make a small car and a split tongue. To top it off quite literally, there were two smallish lumps on his forehead that resembled budding horns.

“Just remember the warning. Some of this stuff is seriously cursed, mate, and we’re not responsible for what may happen with use.”

“Yes, well, and… Thank you, and you do have a good day.” John took the package and backed slowly out of the shop, making sure he was decently far away before he burst out laughing. He’d had a weird morning buying strange things from very odd people, but it was time to go pick up Rosie. He hopped in the taxi with his latest purchase, still chuckling.

“Back to Baker Street, George.” He settled back into his seat, relieved to have finished his final errand. He hadn’t got everything on the list, but he was out of time and it would just have to do. “They all take themselves so seriously…”, he muttered. The fact that _Sherlock_ was taking it seriously was just sinking in. It’d been one thing to believe in ghosts, but believing in all this other… stuff was a little harder to accept.

Sherlock wasn’t back when he got there. Feeling something between relieved and disappointed, he dropped off the packages and picked up Rosie. He was looking forward to a quiet afternoon at home. If he was really lucky, he might even get a chance to nap.

\---

John’s Kitchen: (15 April, afternoon)

“How about we make a little deal.”

“Anything to get you to drop _this_ subject!” John teetered on the edge of fury. “I _swear_ , if I didn’t _love_ you so much, I’d have you… _exorcised_.”

“Write a _physical_ description of Sherlock. _Not_ what you’d write for your blog, just… just write your _own_ perspective; what you see, _who_ you see, when _you_ look at him. Tell me what it’s like to be in the same room with him. Be _absolutely_ honest, John. Do that, and _then_ tell me you’re _not_ attracted to him.”

“If it will shut you up about this, _fine!”_   It _seemed_ easy enough, at the time.

It _hadn’t_ been easy. He scrolled down his screen, looking at two hours of failed attempts. It _should_ have been a simple assignment, and John sighed mournfully. He glanced over longingly at the nearly empty whisky bottle, then decided it was just as well. He worried briefly that he might be drinking a bit too much. Then again, there’d been a number of times lately where a good stiff drink seemed in order.

Elbows on the table, he rested his head in his hands and stared at the screen, utterly defeated. He felt like crying, which made him more miserable. He didn’t like crying. He scrolled through again, trying one final time _not_ to see what was so obviously there and failing. Aside from the first paragraph, which contained all the emotional depth of a police blotter, each and every attempt had been discarded because they’d seemed too… gay. Keen observations had somehow morphed into phrases more suited to romance novels, and very gay ones at that. As a writer, he had to admit what he’d written had an obvious… homoerotic tone. He spent the next ten minutes convincing himself not to panic.

“Maybe it’s not… Am I really, even in the _slightest_ bit, attracted to him?” He mumbled to himself, not quite aware that Mary was there in the background, keeping Rosie amused. John closed his eyes, covered his face with his hands, and quietly questioned himself for some time. He eventually reached a conclusion; one he thought the worst possible. He still wasn’t gay. The thought of _having it on_ with some bloke just made him feel disinterested and faintly repulsed. That conviction should have been comforting, but it wasn’t. He’d had to force himself to think about why.

 _Having it on_ with _Sherlock_ was an idea that was difficult for him to let himself imagine. However, once he did, he suddenly and to his great horror realized that his imagination had a _lot_ of alarmingly vivid things to share. He found himself wondering what sort of noises Sherlock would make during sex, and what it might feel like to have his lean body pinned to the sheets, writhing beneath him, begging and looking back at him with those magnetic, rainbow-grey eyes...

He finally had to admit to himself it was true. John forced his unruly imagination to quiet, grappling about for a suitable euphemism for how he felt. When he thought about having sex with _Sherlock_ he was... Stirred seemed the least disturbing adjective. He stared angrily at his lap, thinking that _very keen for it_ was probably closer to the truth. He wasn’t gay. He was, however, _gay for Sherlock Holmes_.

If it had been any other man, he’d have been wondering how such a thing could happen and questioning his own masculinity, which would be expected. Instead, he was thinking about Sherlock and how _he’d_ react, and how everybody else would react, and how unbearably _smug_ they would all be. He shuddered, picturing lurid tabloid headlines and snarky comments on his blog. At _best_ , Sherlock would remain as dismissive of romantic entanglements as ever, and John would never live it down. At worst _…_ John imagined what it might be like if, against all his expectations, Sherlock should be receptive instead of dismissive. He concluded that a romantic relationship with Sherlock was really a _very_ stupid thing to want. Sherlock came with a great deal of baggage. He was, in John’s opinion, the Mount Everest of emotional baggage. Sherlock was a manipulative, narcissistic drama queen with a host of legitimate psychological problems and a history of addiction. He was, he thought, quite literally the very _worst_ choice for a… a _boyfriend_ in the entirety of the civilized world. John quietly contemplated his own stupidity.

It took him a moment to decide that how he really felt was _angry_. Verging on furious. He’d have to admit, to Mary at least, that she was right. But _only_ about the attraction. She’d just have to give off on them ever being...some sort of romantic couple. He even felt a little betrayed. How could Mary encourage him towards such a monumentally bad idea? Sherlock was just too damned… _Sherlock_ , and she _knew_ that. If it weren’t for Rosie, he’d have stormed out for a long walk. Realizing that his daughter had been quiet for a long while, he turned to check on her and saw Mary crouched beside her.

“Been there the whole time then, have you?” His anger abruptly melted, and he glanced guiltily at the computer screen, blushing.

“Pretty much, yeah.” She smiled gently. “You were muttering something about cheekbones and skin like fine porcelain. I didn’t read any of it, though.”

 _“Why_ , Mary?”

“Why didn’t I read it?”

“No. Why would you, knowing what you do about him and relationships, _ever_ think that fixing me up with Sherlock Holmes is a good idea?”

“John…” She sighed, walking over to gaze gown sympathetically at him. “You still don’t get it, do you? Except for the sexy bits, the two of you are _already_ fixed up. You’ve been in a relationship with him for years.”

“A friendship, yes, and I’ll even admit that I love him in that context. And as much as it profoundly disturbs me, I do have to admit that I’m apparently a bit… physically stirred by… by certain things, but just because I want to… to… Well, it doesn’t mean that I’m… in love with Sherlock…” His voice trailed off. His heart had skipped a beat at the thought, and he suddenly came to a final realization. “I have officially lost my mind.”

“It’s not the end of the world, John.”

“Isn’t it? Disturbing as the whole idea is, even if I… if I were in love with him, it doesn’t mean things have to change. It doesn’t even mean I _want_ them to. He’s a lunatic, and you know it. He’s a complete and utter mess emotionally, and I can’t even imagine the kinds of… difficulties that might pop up.” He cut her off before she could speak. “If you make a pun right now, I just might start shouting. You _know_ how he is, and that alone should be reason enough to explain why I don’t want to be in a relationship with Sherlock.”

“A bit late for that since you’re already in one. I just think that if you and Sherlock could get past being such monumental idiots about things, you’d both be happier. You need a _physical_ partner, John, and he needs someone to make him… face his squishy side. You _need_ each other, my love.”

“But Mary, I still have you. I still love you, and maybe there’s a way we can be together. Aren’t you even a little jealous?”

“I love you too, John. That hasn’t changed, but I _have_. I just don’t have that kind of desire anymore, and all I really want is for you to be happy.”

“And you _really_ think that being with Sherlock will make me happy? You know how he feels about love; the scratch on the lens of a sensitive instrument…”

“The fly in the ointment. Yes, I know all that. I also know he loves you, John.”

“That doesn’t mean he’d want to… to… you know.”

“Have sex?”

“Dear God. I’m still not gay! Maybe it’s some sort of stress thing…”

“John, stop. We both know better than that. You love him and he loves you. If dying taught me anything it’s how important and how precious real love is.”

“Just do me a favor, Mary, please.” John looked up at her pleadingly. “Just give me some time to work through this, okay? I don’t… I’ve got enough going on with you and this whole… magic situation. It’s time to get Rosie ready and take her over to Molly’s. When I get to Baker Street, just don’t… meddle, please. Just respect my wishes and don’t interfere.”

“I’ll do my best not to.”

\---

Speedy’s Sandwich Shop and Café: (15 April, late afternoon)

John stood on the pavement, staring indecisively at the sandwich shop. He knew he was stalling, but he finally decided to step in and have a sandwich before he went up. He’d just been about to settle in at his favorite table when he heard a familiar voice call his name.

“John!”

“Greg.” John stared at him, utterly speechless for a bit longer than was polite. “Um, err… Do join me.” He kept staring, trying very hard not to blurt out one very burning question.

“So, by the look on your face, I gather that you’ve heard”, said Greg drily, setting down his plate. “About me and Mycroft.”

“Sherlock may have mentioned something…” He looked down, unable to look at Greg without staring.

“Oh, come on now. Don’t tell me you’re going to have a problem with us. _You_ , of all people?”

“I don’t have a problem with _you_ …” He sighed, glanced up at Greg, and went back to studying the tabletop. “Look, I’m a little surprised that you’re bi, but it’s no big deal. It’s not you, it’s Mycroft. I just don’t understand why you… I mean… Why him?”

“I know he’s dangerous, if that’s what you’re trying to say.” Lestrade sighed. “I don’t care. Whatever it is you’re about to say, I don’t care because I love him.”

“How? Why? What possible thing could you love about Mycroft? He’s like the king of spies, the spider in his web, having people kidnapped at all hours of the night… I don’t trust him, and I don’t understand what a good, decent man like you could see in a snake like Mycroft.”

“John…” Greg’s voice was frighteningly calm, but his eyes narrowed with anger. “I _like_ to think that you and I are friends, so because of that friendship, just this _once_ , I’m gonna skip the part where I take you out back and beat the crap outta you, and just answer your question.”

“…” John kept his mouth shut and sat very still. He’d never thought of Lestrade as particularly intimidating, and now he knew he’d been very wrong.

“I love Mycroft. That’s all the explanation that _anyone_ needs or deserves, but if you must know, I don’t get why the rest of you aren’t in love with him. Well, _you_ , I get it; you’ve got Sherlock, but Mycroft’s the most brilliant guy around, and he’s sexy as hell. If I’ve got the chance to share my life and my bed with the most incredible, beautiful mind I’ve ever met, that’s a chance I’m gonna take.”

“Greg, I…”

“And one _more_ thing. If you don’t like Mycroft, fine. That’s your opinion and you’re entitled to it, but you’d better be damn sure you know the difference between speakin’ your mind and shooting your mouth off when you talk to me about him.”

“I’m sorry. Look, Greg, I guess I’m just so used to dealing with the… the devious side of Mycroft that it’s the only side I see. He has me kidnapped on a semi-regular basis, and probably wiretapped, and… And you’re entirely right. It _is_ none of my business, really. Not a bit.” John considered his newly-arrived sandwich, moving it about on the plate without taking a bite. “And you know I’m not… that I don’t _have_ Sherlock. Not like _that_.”

“Why th’ hell not?” Greg dug into his pasta with gusto, waiting for John’s traditional declaration that he wasn’t gay. Instead, John nibbled the corner of his sandwich. He looked up at Greg and shrugged unhappily, unsure what to say and not wanting to lie.

“So you finally noticed, huh?” Greg couldn’t help gloating a little. “You do realize you’re literally the last one to know?”

“Don’t rub it in.” He took a few angry bites from his sandwich and instantly regretted it. It sat like a lead weight in his stomach. “Look, there’s no real point in talking about it, because nothing’s going to change. You know how he feels about… things. So even if I… if I felt anything it wouldn’t matter. As per usual.”

“Maybe. You never know, though. Mycroft and Sherlock both have some pretty definite rules about not getting attached, and yet here’s me and Mycroft, attached.”

“I know. It’s one of the things that had me so shocked. I didn’t even know you two were close, and the thought of Mycroft… of _either_ of them dating does boggle the mind a bit.”

“Yeah, I pretty much think I’m about the luckiest bastard alive.” Lestrade had the kind of happy, slightly idiotic grin that the newly-in-love tended to favor. “I won him over with my charms”, he chuckled. “No, seriously, I just told him straight-out how I felt, and things just sort of… clicked. Maybe it’ll be like that for you.”

“And maybe I don’t _want_ it to be.” He decided to have the sandwich wrapped up. Maybe he’d eat it later. “Were you on your way up?”

“Yeah. Look, is he okay? Sherlock, I mean. He seemed okay earlier, but it’s hard to tell with him.”

“I… I think so. I hope so. Do you know what’s going on? The thing?”

“If by _the thing_ , you mean ghosts and fairies and magical shit, yeah. How’s he taking that?”

“He’s alright, I think… but to be honest, I’m not altogether sure that _I’m_ not suddenly going to snap. Maybe I have, and that’s where all these… strange urges come from.”

“Then you snapped a long time ago, John.”

“Has it been that obvious for that long? Why? What do I do that makes it so… obvious to everyone but me?”

“The look in your eyes when you look at him; like he’s the center of your whole freaking world. Even I can see that. Imagine what _he_ sees.”

“Oh. Dear God in Heaven, I never thought of that.” Sherlock had deliberately read his pulse earlier. Sherlock _knew_. “Bloody hell, he knows!”

“Of course, he knows. That’s why I just put it out on the table with Mycroft. I figured he’s gonna know anyway, so why not? I just got lucky that he decided to let himself be interested in me. Plus, I’m pretty damn irresistible when I wanna be.” He laughed to show he was joking about the last bit.

“Confident, aren’t you?” John laughed along with him. “You are though. I mean that.” John grasped with how to express himself without sounding like a complete arse. “You’re just such a good, solid, regular guy. Wasn’t coming-out even a little bit hard for you?”

“I’ve never been _in_ , John. Anyone who’s ever bothered to ask already knew that.”

“Oh. I suppose that would make it easier. Well, then.” Not quite sure what to say, John nibbled a bit more on his sandwich. “I know this might sound ridiculous, but I’m still not gay.”

“I’m not exactly bi. It’s just easier than explaining. If I was just looking to get laid, I’d probably be with a woman, but when it’s something serious, what I really look for in a person is intelligence. That’s a lot bigger deal to me than gender. I know what I like and I’m fine with that.”

“I just… I’m not even sure why I’m telling you all this. With me, it’s just him, and I don’t even know why. I’m still not gay. It’s just… a one of. So I’d really appreciate it if you’d just keep this between us.”

“Look, I’m here because we got a problem, not to meddle in your personal life. We could really use the both of you on this. Mycroft and Sherlock need to work together, and you know how they are with each other. It’s not gonna be easy for them.”

“We?”

“Me and Mycroft, so far, but we’re looking to recruit a few other people to help. Maybe Molly Hooper, for starters.”

“You and Mycroft are building some sort of… team? To investigate magic?”

“It’s not, strictly speaking, official yet, but yeah. Somebody’s gotta do it. John, there’s not a single person in authority that’s willin’ to be the first one to officially say magic is real. Mycroft’s the _only_ one doing a damned thing about it, but it’s out there and it’s getting’ more common. I was gonna drop by and go ever some files with Sherlock, but why don’t I just give ‘em to you, and the two of you can drop by Mycroft’s place around eight.”

“You’re inviting us to Mycroft’s? He lets you do that, does he? Just invite people round? To his house?”

“Yeah, John. It’s what couples do, and this is work anyway. Important work, so I’ll see you both on time.”

John sat and stared at his sandwich. He made a few half-hearted nibbles, then decided he’d eaten enough of it to count as a meal. Reluctantly, he made his way upstairs, wondering if Sherlock had returned and half hoping that he hadn’t.

\---

221B Baker Street: (15 April, late afternoon)

“I just ran into Greg downstairs and… _What_ are you doing? I’ve seen these types of movies and this _never_ ends well…” Sherlock had rolled up the rugs, pushed the chairs aside, and was kneeling on the floor, inscribing an elaborate design on the hardwoods with what John hoped was washable paint. He was barefoot, his shirt was unbuttoned, and there was an accidental streak of white paint in his hair. He was beautiful, and John wondered how he’d never noticed before.

“It’s for Mary. I’m going to see if I can trap her.”

“I’m _not_ letting you trap my wife. We’re expected at Mycroft’s at eight, by the way. Greg invited us.” John’s mouth felt dry and it was hard to speak.

“It’s just an experiment, John. I’ll let her go right away.” He dropped the brush in a cup and sat cross-legged on the floor. “Greg invited us to Mycroft’s? Well. That _is_ something, isn’t it?  He’s made himself _quite_ at home.”

“Look, like it or not, they’re a couple, and we’ve got bigger problems than them to worry over. Greg dropped these off.” He tossed the files down on a chair and sat down on the floor, comfortably far enough away from Sherlock. “They want to form a team to deal with magic, and I think it’s a good idea.”

“Like it or not? What do you mean, like it or not? It’s not for either of us to say.” Sherlock grabbed the files and sat closer to John, flipping through them quickly. “We looked into a couple of these cases. Now I see why we didn’t get anywhere. Mycroft’s had Lestrade coming to him with them instead.” He sighed, scrunching his nose in distaste. “I don’t think we have any choice, at least for now. I’ll have to agree to work with him, ghastly as that may be. At least he can’t afford to be smug about it, considering he’s shagging Greg…” He stopped suddenly, leaning closer and looking into John’s eyes. “Are you okay? You look… different.”

“I’m fine. I’m fine, I just…” He jerked back, hitting his head lightly on the nearby tea trolley. “Ouch. I’ve just had a lot of shocks lately, what with Mary and Magic and Mycroft and… things.”

“Mmm.” Sherlock just stared, expressionless, while John pretended to study the files.

“Oh, here now. Remember that werewolf the tabloids were talking about? I was right, there was a lot more to it…”

“John?”

“And I don’t know about shoe elves, but there actually is a file about fairies here…”

“John!” Sherlock snatched the files from his hands and set them aside. He leaned forward until his face was just inches from John’s. John could hear his own heartbeat, rolling like thunder in his ears. Sherlock’s eyes bored into his, wide black pools surrounded by discs of silver, impossible to look away from. “John”, Sherlock said softly. “What are my pupils?”

“Dilated”, John whispered.

“And my pulse?” Sherlock thrust his wrist into John’s hands. He could feel the pulsing of Sherlock’s heart, matching the beat of his own.

“Elevated.” John couldn’t move. Part of him wanted to push Sherlock away and part of him wanted to shove him down on the floor and… and… He sat frozen; breathless, blushing and staring at Sherlock.

“So now you know. Now we both know.” Sherlock leaned over, whispering, his breath tickling John’s neck. “Do something John. I need it to be you.”

“I…” He’d been about to say something, but somehow his lips and Sherlock’s had met. His hesitancy was swept away by all the years of pent up desire and he couldn’t stop. Lips still locked together, he practically pounced, pressing Sherlock back until they were rolling around on the floor, bodies locked together and hips grinding. John nipped at Sherlock’s nipple as he worked on stripping both their shirts off…

“John!”

“Wha-what?” John looked around in confusion. Sherlock was still sitting across from him, sorting through the files and looking at him with concern. Realizing he’d been daydreaming, John turned several shades of progressively brighter red and stared at the floor in dismay.

‘Are you sure you’re alright? You were saying something about fairies, but then your mind seemed… elsewhere.”

“Fairies? Yes, fairies! There’s a file…” The file was in his lap. There was also a very different kind of thing in his lap that made handing over the folder unthinkable. Instead, he began to read the highlights, trying his best to sound normal. “Lestrade’s noted five different sightings. It says two confirmed, but I only see reports for three…”

“Give me that.” Sherlock tried to snatch the file away, but John held on determinedly as he tugged at it. “Give me the file, John.”

“I’m… I’m not done reading it.”

“Mmm.” Sherlock let go of the file and sat back, staring at John, who was doing his best to pretend to be reading. What John had been thinking was obvious, but this level of physical arousal was new. Sherlock wondered what had changed. “Is it Mycroft and Lestrade?”

“What about them?”

“John, we’ve just discovered the very fabric of reality has changed, _literally_ the most alarming and noteworthy event of our lifetimes; possibly of all time, and you have your mind on something else. And before you protest, just let me point out that if you turned the page you’ve been staring at the right way round, you’d have an easier time reading it.”

“I… oh. Uh, yeah… Look, I don’t think the magic stuff’s really sunk in. I just came to terms, literally yesterday, with the idea that Mary’s real, and the rest of it… It’s just a bit much, and yes, it is going to take some time to get used to the idea. Mycroft and Lestrade, I mean.”

“And that’s what’s got you so distracted? Mycroft and Lestrade? Why on Earth would that be of any interest to you?

“Interest? It’s not _interest_ , really, it’s just…” John closed the folder and looked over at Sherlock, eyes suddenly searching for an answer. _“Why?_ I know Mycroft’s like you about relationships; worse really, because you at least have friends, and I just wonder… Why did he change his mind? Why would _either_ of you change your mind?”

“I’m not entirely sure.” He decided it was a very fair question. “It may be that while we both value reason and rationality over sentimental attachments, we’re both also aware of the very real possibility of turning into someone like Eurus. In her way, my sister is the perfect thinking machine, with no real emotional awareness to cloud her mind. Because of that, she has no moral compass, and having understood that, I think both of us see that we should seek to be… less perfect. Mycroft said caring may be the _sanest_ course. Plus, he really had the hots for Greg.”

“I… I see. Oh, God. Sherlock, it never occurred to me that you’d worry… You do know you’re not like her, don’t you? You could _never_ be… like her.”

“Couldn’t I?” Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “Is this more of your faith, John?”

“I know you care. That’s not even faith; it’s a fact. You may not like to admit it, but you do care. You know you do.”

“We _all_ have things we don’t like to admit, don’t we? John.”

“I… yes. I suppose we do. Maybe some things are best left unsaid.”

“I can’t have you distracted, John. Not now. I can’t have either of us distracted right now.” Sherlock sprang up, grabbed his coat, and headed out the door. “There’s something that I need to do. I’ll be right back. If anything explodes in the kitchen, just ignore it unless there’s a fire.” He stuck his head back in the door. “And stay out of the kitchen. Because, explosions.”

\---

Alleyway, Baker Street: (15 April, late afternoon)

“Look,” Sherlock took a long drag of his cigarette and sighed into the mobile. “It’s a very simple question. Are you still distracted?”

“Currently, no. Why so urgently curious, little brother? You are still coming over at eight, I presume, so why not just wait and observe for yourself?”

“Because John’s… distracted.”

“Then un-distract him.” Sherlock hung up without further comment. He paced back and forth, thinking. John’s timing, he decided, left much to be desired.

“Un-distract him.” He snorted, growling at the phone. “And how am I supposed to do that without getting distracted myself? How is it that you’re _not_ distracted, older brother?”

“Sounds like you’re _already_ distracted, Sherlock. ‘ere, gimme a fag.” Bill Wiggins peered at him from behind a bin. Sherlock walked over and sat down on the ground beside him, wordlessly handing him a cigarette. “Thanks. I thought you quit. Again.”

“And I thought you’d stopped using. Again.”

“I had a long talk with me Mum yesterday.”

“Family has that effect.” Sherlock sighed, leaning his head back against the bricks and flicking his cigarette butt across the alley.

“My Mum’s been dead since I was a baby, so yeah, I’m on a bit of a bender. If I’m gonna be hallucinatin’ anyway, I might as well enjoy it.” Bill shrugged. “Trouble with th’ boyfriend, eh?”

“I don’t _have_ a boyfriend. Romantic love is a construct, a chemical reaction in the brain to hormonal stimuli. I don’t do… love.” Sherlock spoke with his usual air of contempt, but he realized he was, in fact, lying. He did love John, a great deal more than he thought was sensible.

“Chemistry, huh? Well, sounds like yur lab partner’s havin’ a _chemical reaction_.”

Sherlock glared at Bill for a long moment before he replied. “That sort of thing may be well-and-fine for you, or John. You’re not like me. I’m…”

“Loony?” Bill laughed. “Look, Sherlock, I’ve seen you at yur worst.”

“I’m _different_. And what’s my worst got to do with any of this?”

“Everything. I used ta think I was th’ dumbest smart person around ‘til I met you.”

“If I wanted to be insulted, I’d still be on the phone with Mycroft.” Grumbling indigently, he pulled another smoke out, stared at it indecisively and finally put it back in the pack.

“You ‘ave one o’ yur fits, an’ I’m gone; you know that. He don’t run.”

“So?”

“So, when you find one that don’t run, y’ do what y’ can ta keep ‘em. ‘ere you are, sittin’ in a dirty alley talkin’ to a junkie about love an’ tryin’ not ta chain smoke instead o’ solvin’ crimes. Seems t’ me yur partner ain’t th’ _only_ distracted party.”

“I do have better things to do. Important things. Come and talk to me when you’re sober; I may have use for you.” He hopped up and brushed off his coat. Impulsively, he reached into his pocket and tossed the rest of the pack to Bill.

“Thanks, mate. You should stop by the corner store.” Bill tucked the pack away in his pocket, grinning. “No man’s an island, Sherlock. Read that somewhere, I did.”

“I’ve got another pack at home.”

“I mean for rubbers. And lube.”

“Get clean, Billy.” Sherlock gave him one final scornful glance and stalked away.

\---

221B Baker Street: (15 April, early evening)

Careful not to wake John, who’d fallen asleep on the sofa, Sherlock looked cautiously in the kitchen. Satisfied that no explosions were imminent, he tossed his coat across a chair and settled himself on the floor beside the small stack of files Greg had left for him, intending to sort through them. Instead, he found himself staring at John.

Love was one mystery he’d never wanted to solve. For Sherlock, facing the supernatural and unraveling the laws of magic seemed simple compared to the mystery that was love. He scooted across the floor, closer to John. He looked so peaceful, curled amidst the cushions, books and random packages. Sherlock shivered, remembering the look of naked desire on John’s face earlier.

“Un-distract him…” he whispered. It seemed a monumental task, and a terrifying one. He tried sorting it out in his mind. He didn’t like admitting it, even to himself, but he loved John like he’d loved no other person in his life; passionately so. When John wasn’t there, he felt… lonely. He compared his situation to Mycroft’s, somewhat unsuccessfully.

Lestrade had apparently had no qualms about expressing his desires. Sherlock was sure John was still grappling with his. Lestrade was sapiosexual, attracted to pure intellect, while John was an apparently straight man who was, for reasons Sherlock couldn’t fathom, somehow attracted to him. Lestrade was comfortable with the idea of loving another man. John, he felt sure, would have regrets.

Falling in love with him wasn’t as terrifying as the thought of losing John, or himself, in the process. He sighed softly, realizing he was already lost. He’d hoped if he did nothing, things would stay the same, but he realized he’d been deluding himself. John, no matter how much he wanted to, would never make the first move. Eventually, he’d meet someone else. John was a romantic, and not likely to be alone long. He’d want someone there for him; someone to be in love with. He’d want sex.

Sherlock crawled across the floor, reaching under his chair for a cigarette. The Turkish slipper he kept them in had somehow ended up pushed nearly to the back. He’d finally got his fingers on it when he heard John stirring on the sofa.

John woke to the sight of Sherlock, arse in the air, rummaging around under the chair. He went from drowsy to wide awake instantly and sat bolt upright, heart hammering in his chest.

“Oh, there you are.” Sherlock fished a cigarette out and, affecting a calm he in no way felt, casually slid into the chair.

“Nothing exploded while you were gone. What is all that anyway?”

“Testing some alchemical theories.” Sherlock waved dismissively towards the kitchen.

“Is it safe to put the kettle on?”

“I’d think not.”

“Oh. Right then.” John stretched, rubbing his shoulder. “I read through the files. Interesting stuff, really. I must have fallen asleep sorting through some of these books…” He watched Sherlock somewhat absent-mindedly pat himself down, looking for his lighter. “It’s probably in your coat.”

“Probably.” Sherlock glanced at the clock. 6:28. He got up and retrieved his coat, fishing around in the pockets for his lighter.

“You’ve been smoking a lot more lately, haven’t you?”

“And you’ve been drinking more.” Sherlock slunk over, tossing his coat and the cigarette on the coffee table, and sat down beside John.

“A bit.” John shrugged. “Not to the point of getting drunk though. And I don’t need an intervention, if that’s what you’re about to say. Things have just been very stressful lately.”

“I have to imagine so…”

“Are you… okay?” John shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny of Sherlock’s gaze.

“No. Neither of us are.” His voice was calm, but Sherlock’s fingerers drummed nervously on the sofa cushion.

“You’re not… this isn’t a danger time, is it?” He glanced at Sherlock, brow furrowed with concern.

“In a way… but not _that_. I’m still clean.” He sighed. Making his move on Janine, such as it was, had been so much easier. This was harder; much harder, because it was real. There was a very real chance that John would panic. He pushed his own fear as far into his mind palace as possible.

“Then _what_ is the problem? What do you mean, neither of us are okay?”

“What I mean is you can’t think straight, and I can barely think at all. What I mean is that you’re drinking more and I’m smoking more, because _neither_ of us can face the truth. What I mean is I’m facing the greatest challenge of my life and I’m terrified!” Nearly shouting, he suddenly grabbed John, pulling him close, until they were almost nose to nose. “What I mean is _this!”_

He leaned in, pressing his lips to John’s. John struggled, trying to push him away, but Sherlock’s long fingers were digging into his arms, holding him with all his strength. He tried to speak but Sherlock’s tongue was suddenly in his mouth. He froze, confused and panicked. Then his eyes met Sherlock’s and his panic melted in the heat of desire. As he returned his kiss, Sherlock released his grip and John’s arms went around him, pulling him closer.

Sherlock embraced him and let him take control, surrendering his own fears to the moment and letting his body respond to pure sensation. His ever-racing mind calmed as John pressed against him, slowly pushing him back until they laid entwined on the couch, bodies grinding together. Books and packages tumbled unheeded to the floor. Heart-pounding, John tore himself from Sherlock’s lips, breathlessly kissing a trail to his neck while his fingers fumbled with his shirt buttons. His cock had sprung to aching hardness and his hips ground against Sherlock’s body, seeking friction. He could feel the heat and the hardness of Sherlock’s cock through the fabric, pressing against his own. Some part of his mind recoiled, but he was too in the moment to hesitate. Swept up in the haze of passion, their urgency grew as their bodies melded together in perfect rhythm.

Sherlock writhed underneath him, self-control shattered, cold intellect overtaken by wild abandon. There was only John; the taste and scent of him, the heat of his body, the urgent need for friction. John moaned, close to cumming, as Sherlock arched beneath him, whispering his name, driving him over the edge with him. John kissed him again, enraptured in the afterglow, then collapsed on top of him, panting and dazed.

Eventually, his breath and his senses returned. Dear God, he wondered, what have I done? He sat up, still straddling Sherlock, staring down at him. He was indescribably beautiful to John; his shirt undone, porcelain skin glowing with a sheen of sweat, dark curls tousled in disarray, eyes bright with passion. John’s heart leapt again, and he knew.

“I love you”, he whispered softly.

“John, I… you know, that. Me too.” Sherlock sat up slowly, obviously still getting his bearings. “I… That was… that was… good. I didn’t… I never… Am I still a virgin? Does that count, what we did? I think it _should_ count. Because it was good, very, oh so very, very good.” He looked over at John, trembling, suddenly unsure of himself, his grey-green eyes wide as his fear came rushing back. “Please, John, whatever you do, don’t leave me. Don’t _ever_ leave me.”

“I don’t think I could if I wanted to.” The fear in his voice wrenched at John’s heart. He swept him into his arms, reassuring him with a barrage of small kisses. “And I don’t want to, so you can quit worrying.”

“I was afraid you would. I worried you might be angry and confused and just walk out of my life forever. I’m so sorry, John.”

“Sorry? For what?”

“For what I did to you; the whole me being dead thing. I didn’t understand, John; what it felt like to hurt so much, to feel so much. I do now, and I’m sorry that I hurt you. Also, you could do better than me; you know you could.”

“I know.” John’s laugh stopped abruptly. “Wait. You’re _serious_ about that last bit? Dear God, you _idiot_. I love you, Sherlock. You and me… we… belong together.”

“So… does this mean we’re a couple? What does it mean?”

“It… I don’t know, Sherlock. Despite that… what we just did, I’m still not gay, and it’s hard for me to imagine us as a couple, raising Rosie and growing old together. I think I need time to get used to the idea, but I… I know I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

“I know you’re not gay, John.” He shrugged. “I’m not even sure if I am.”

“How can you not know?”

“Because it’s just you, John. There’s never been anyone else.”

“Never? What about Janine? I mean, I know it was for a case, but… _wait_. Wait just a minute… You really _are_ a virgin? You two didn’t…” He paused, trying to recall one of the more lurid headlines she’d created. “…have it on seven times a night at Baker Street?”

“God, no. There was some making out, but that’s all. I had quite a time putting her off, really. She was quite keen on the idea.”

“And you weren’t? Keen on it… at all? Not even just a little bit?”

“No.”

“And Irene Adler? I thought… I mean, weren’t you attracted to her?”

“Intellectually, yes, but not physically. She’s just very good at playing the game.”

“Then you’re definitely gay.”

“I’m gay for you, John.” John frowned at the words, and Sherlock cautiously reached out, placing his hand on his knee. “Are you really going to be alright with us being together? I know it’s going to be… awkward for you.”

“I don’t know, Sherlock.” He put his hand atop Sherlock’s, squeezing gently. “I want to be, for your sake, but I… This is all very confusing, and I’m going to have problems handling it. I don’t understand any of this. I don’t even understand myself anymore. I know I keep saying this, but I’m not gay, and having everyone think I am… Well, awkward is a vast understatement. And our friends! There’s going to be gloating, and smugness, and I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“So, we’re… in the closet?”

“For now, please. Just give me some time to sort it all out in my head, okay?”

“If that’s what you need”, he replied softly. “But we’re due at Mycroft’s soon.”

“What’s that got to do with… Oh, hell.” John winced. “He’ll just take one look at us and deduce what’s going on, won’t he?”

“Probably. And it’s Mycroft; smug gloating is one of his specialties, so brace yourself. You can console yourself that most of it will be directed at me. And since Lestrade will be there, he’ll probably know as well.”

“I’m sort of glad Greg’s going to be there. I don’t really mind him knowing. We had a bit of a chat earlier, and, well… he already knows how I feel about you. Plus, with him there, I’m a lot less likely to punch Mycroft in the face. He’s very… protective of him.”

“I know. I have to say, I’m a bit surprised you admitted it to him.”

“So was I. I’m not sure why I did, really. He’s just… easy to talk to, I guess.”

“Well, we’d better get cleaned up or everyone will know.” He looked ruefully down at the front of his trousers.

“Yeah”, said John, blushing slightly. “Good thing I kept some clothes here.”

“Then let’s get going.” Sherlock stood, pulling John up with him and giving him a quick kiss. “The game is on, John!”

John was headed up the stairs to his old room, when he heard Sherlock call up to him.

“And do be quick about it. I still want to try summoning Mary before we go.”

“Mary…” John winced, the lines between his brows deepening. Despite her earlier words, it felt a bit like he’d cheated on her. Plus, he was fairly certain there’d be gloating.

\---


	4. Masters of the Mystic Arts

221B Baker Street: (15 April, evening)

“Got your letter from _Hogwarts_ , did you?” Mary couldn’t resist saying it. John and Sherlock were standing beside a large, impressively elaborate magical circle. Having lit what Mary thought was a dangerous number of candles, they were now both draped in hastily scavenged white sheets and solemnly intoning some phrase that might have been Latin if not for John’s inability to pronounce it properly. They looked deadly serious and utterly ridiculous, and she couldn’t stop laughing.

“Mary! It worked! Did it work? Why are you over _there?_ You do see her too, don’t you?” John just nodded, as Sherlock didn’t pause long enough for him to speak. “Why aren’t you _in_ the circle? You’re supposed to be _inside_ the circle. That’s the whole point. Of the circle.”

“Is this any better?” She strolled over and stood in its center, grinning.

“That doesn’t have _any_ effect on you, does it? Well, the good news is that we can probably skip the bit with the toad’s blood.”

“That _is_ good news. I’m sure the toad’s relieved as well.” Somewhere in the midst of things, John had begun to wonder if they hadn’t gone insane after all. Maybe it was all the incense. He ripped off the sheet and tossed it in a chair. “Hogwarts”, he chuckled. “We _deserved_ that. _This_ …” he gestured around the room. “…is ridiculous. Why are we even doing this?”

“I had hoped that thousands of years of human research into the art of communicating with the dead might have yielded some useful insight.” Sherlock tossed aside the tome he’d been holding and sighed disdainfully. “Apparently not.”

“You _are_ amazing.” Mary smiled at Sherlock, then quickly glanced at John. “You _both_ are. You’ve just found out ghosts exist and you’re already trying to become masters of the mystic arts.”

“If _we_ didn’t summon you, why are you here? Why did you appear just now?”

“Because of John. When he thinks about me hard enough, I can just… feel it, somehow.”

“So, there’s some sort of… _psychic_ element to it. Where do you come _from_ , Mary?”

“I don’t know. The only word for it is… Nowhere. There’s no sense of time; no sense of anything but cold. Nowhere’s very cold. It’s really all I can tell you about it.”

“Then tell me everything you _can_ , from the beginning. Do you remember dying?”

“Sherlock!”

“It’s alright, John. He does need to know everything I can tell him if we’re going to figure out this ghost business.”

“I know, I just… it’s a very private thing. Dying, I mean. I’ve seen a lot of people die, and no matter how many people are around, in the end, it’s just you and… and death. I just want you both…”, he glared at Sherlock “… to understand that if there’s something Mary’s not comfortable discussing, she doesn’t have to talk about it.”

“I’m fine, John. I don’t like dwelling on it, but I don’t mind talking about it. I remember what happened, getting shot, being in your arms, bleeding out… everything got dim, and then…” she shrugged. “I don’t remember dying. It’s like that moment before sleep. You never do remember falling asleep.”

“What’s the next thing you remember?”

“It’s a bit fuzzy. John, obviously.” She looked lovingly at John. “The next thing I remember is John.”

“Tell him about the gap.”

“John tells me that I’ve been here all along; that he first saw me at my funeral, and that we’ve been having conversations ever since. But my first clear memory after my death is only a little over two months ago.”

“Interesting. _Exactly_ how long ago was that?

“Two months and… fifteen days? I can’t remember what time it was, only that it was nighttime, and late. I felt John somehow… It’s like that. I don’t feel or know anything but cold, and then I can just… feel John’s presence and I reach out and I’m with him. It’s happened with Rosie, too. At first it was just when they were thinking of me, but just in the last few days I’ve been able to concentrate on someone and appear on my own, like I did with you.”

“So you’re getting stronger?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“And what else can you tell me? Can anyone else see you?”

“Not so far. Oh, except dogs. I was with Rosie just a bit ago, and Molly can’t see me, but when we went outside her neighbor’s dog went right off.”

“What else?”

“Let’s see… Well, I’m cold to the touch; not that you _can_ touch me, but John says he felt cold when he tried. And he felt warm to me.”

“Fascinating.” Sherlock walked over and ran his hand through her several times, then stared down at it. “Look.” He thrust it at John for inspection.

“There’s some redness there. It looks like a minor burn.”

“Vasoconstriction”, Sherlock proclaimed triumphantly. He began rummaging about through the various packages they’d bought, returning with a small device. “She doesn’t register as cold. There’s no cold spot; the so-called ghost hunters are wrong about that; but physical contact with her causes heat loss. And you felt warmth, when I did it?” Mary nodded her assent. “What else do you feel, physically?”

“Nothing much. I can’t move objects or walk through walls, by the way. I tried that, and I did feel… not the wall itself, but a sort of… resistance. Other than that, and the sense of warmth when I touch someone, I don’t feel _any_ physical sensations or needs. I’m never tired, or hungry. I don’t seem to have physical urges of _any_ sort.” She glanced over apologetically at John, who was too busy blushing and looking at his shoes to notice. She grinned at Sherlock. “Squishy?”

“A bit, yeah.” He smiled slyly at John.

“Oh, dear lord.” John muttered, quietly mortified.

“So you admitted it, did you?” She looked inquisitively at John, who nodded slightly, still unable to look her in the eyes. Mary smiled at him warmly. “Good.”

“It doesn’t bother you? You’re not jealous?”, Sherlock asked curiously.

“No. I think I’m beyond all that. Maybe if it was someone _other_ than you, I might be a bit… hurt, because it hasn’t been that long since I died, but I love you _both_ and I want you to be happy.”

“Do we have to discuss _this_ , now?”, John growled unhappily.

“No. In fact, we’re already going to be late for Mycroft’s. Put those candles out while I make sure nothing’s going to explode in the kitchen while we’re gone. Mary, if you’ll come with me, I still have a few questions for you.”

\---

Mycroft’s Dining Room: (15 April, 8:47 PM)

“You’re _late_ , little brother. Been _busy_ , have you?” Mycroft was sitting in front of his laptop at the dining room table, which was covered in neat little piles of paperwork. Greg stood behind him, one hand casually draped on his shoulder.

 _“Very.”_ Sherlock smiled wolfishly and glanced at John, who had turned several shades of red.

“And how are things with _you_ , Dr. Watson?” He looked exactly as John had pictured he would: smug. He winced, guessing from the look of Mycroft’s face he already knew exactly how _things_ were.

“Fine”, He snapped, irritation overtaking his embarrassment.  What he’d really wanted to say was _Sod off, you smug bastard_ , but Greg was a large incentive to keep that particular reply to himself.

“I assume you’ve been too… distracted to find out anything of interest, brother mine. Involving the _case_ , of course.”

“I’ve discovered a few points of interest. Whatever happened to set all this off apparently began on or around February first, which happens to fall on the ancient pagan holiday of Imbolic. I’ve also made some detailed observations about the properties of ghosts, identified several texts of magic which seem spurious at best and am currently running some tests of alchemical theory.”

“Ghosts? The dear but not quite departed Mrs. Watson, I presume.”

“Precisely.”

“Well then, take a seat and we’ll compare notes. Your conclusion about magical texts may be a bit hasty. We’ve discovered a young man who’s capable of wielding it to some limited extent, but I’ve tried to repeat his demonstration without success. I suspect there’s some other element at play. It’s possible that one must have some natural talent for it.”

“I’m gonna get a beer. You guys want anything?”

“I’ll take one. In fact, I’ll go with you.” John jumped at the chance to escape Mycroft’s gaze. Greg shrugged and led him to the kitchen.

“You looked pretty pissed off back there. You _still_ got a problem with me and Mycroft?

“No, it’s just…” John sighed. “Their bloody deductions! It took him _two_ seconds; just one look and he could tell, and sometimes that’s just… It’s bloody irritating.”

“Could tell what?” Greg handed him a beer, brow knitted in curiosity.

“Christ. Sometimes, you know, it’s nice to talk to a _normal_ person.” John took a swallow of his beer and leaned against the counter. He wondered if he could say it out loud. “I… What we talked about, earlier…”

“Yeah…” Greg had some good guesses about what John was about to say, but he kept his expression carefully neutral, knowing it was best to let him say things in his own time.

“Sherlock and I, we… We’re…” He looked at Greg hesitantly. It occurred to him that he _needed_ someone to talk to about it, and Greg was the one person he’d be comfortable with. “We were sitting on the sofa talking, and then he started shouting at me and he grabbed me, and then he… he _kissed_ me. I kissed him _back_ , Greg. And God help me, I still don’t understand _how_ I can feel this way about a man, but the next thing I knew, we were rolling around on the sofa humping each other like two teenagers on a first date. Which, for Sherlock, it apparently was.” He sighed and took a long swig off his beer. “He’s still a _virgin_.”

“Huh. I own Molly a tenner, then.” He grinned at John. “I thought for sure, him and Janine…”

“Nope. And he _still_ says he doesn’t even know if he’s gay.” John snorted. “There are things about him I’ll probably _never_ understand. He says it’s just _me_. He’s my best friend, _and_ a virgin, and apparently I’m the only person he’s _ever_ wanted in that way.”

“Jesus.” Greg shook his head ruefully. “I can kinda imagine what it must be like. I’m surprised _he_ made the first move.”

“Not half as surprised as me. Greg, I told him I love him and promised I’d never leave him, and now I’m _terrified!_ I don’t know if I can _do_ this. I love him; I know I do, but I’m just not gay and I don’t _want_ to be… gay.”

“Look, John, I’m basically a simple kinda guy, and I learned a _long_ time ago not to give two shites about what kinda label people wanna put on me, but lemme ask you just one simple question. Does he make you _hard?”_

“What?” Slightly shocked, John’s eyes widened, and he took another sip of his beer to cover his embarrassment. “Uh… Yeah”, he admitted reluctantly. “I wish to God I knew _why_ , but he does. Quite a _bit_ , apparently…”

“Then you got this.”

“I do? Because I definably don’t feel like I’ve got this.”

“Look, you got somebody you’re in love with, _passionately_ , and they love you back. You _know_ what he’s like. Can you _imagine_ how much courage it took _him_ to admit that he _wants_ you? He needs you, and if I were you, I’d get my head out of my arse and quit giving a fuck about what everybody else is gonna think. He _deserves_ that much from you.”

“You’re right”, John said quietly. “I know you _are_ , and I know… I _know_ what it feels like to have someone like that and lose them. Maybe that’s why I’m so scared. I asked him to give me some time before we told everyone that we’re a… a couple. It’s just not that easy for me, just… coming-out like that. If I _were_ gay, it’d be different, but I’m genuinely afraid I’ll just snap. That we’ll be together one day, and I’ll just panic and lash out at him or just _run_ , and that… I don’t think he could handle that.”

“He _couldn’t_ , and you _know_ it.” Greg took John’s now empty beer from him, tossed it in the bin, and handed him another. “So you better get yourself sorted _quick_ or you’re gonna end up breakin’ him. Minds like his and Mycroft’s, you know, they’re like handling fine glass. Like they both say, _emotions aren’t their area_. When it comes to who needs what, emotion-wise, I know I gotta put Mycroft _first_ , because that’s the one place that’s _my_ area. If you’re gonna be with Sherlock, he’s gonna need _you_ to do the same.”

“I know you’re right, and I appreciate…” He fell silent. Greg’s eyes were focused on something behind him and had gone wide with shock. John turned, and Mary gave him a little wave in greeting.

“Bloody hell…” Greg whispered. _“Mary?”_

“You can see me!”

“Yeah.” Having already dealt with a vampire, Greg quickly regained his composure. “It’s good to see you again, Mary.”

“You too, Greg. It’s good to _be_ seen.” She smiled over at John. “Are we at Mycroft’s?”

“Yeah. Greg and I were just having a chat about… about me and Sherlock. He told me I should pull my head out of my arse.” He chuckled ruefully and glanced at Greg. “She knows about us, by the way.”

“Good advice, that.” She grinned over at Greg. “I’m surprised he told you.”

“Well, I _am_ dating Mycroft, so we’ve got some stuff in common there. Speakin’ of which, we should probably get back to business.”

“That’s why I’m here. Sherlock said it might be useful if I dropped by. I wonder why _you_ can see me when Molly and Mrs. Hudson can’t?” She followed along as they headed back to the dining room. “So, you and Mycroft? Really? Well, that _is_ a surprise! Good for Mycroft.” She laughed softly, giving John a gently teasing look as they stepped into the dining room. “It seems that _both_ the Holmes brothers have good taste in men.”

“I like to think so. Good evening, Mary.” Sherlock looked up from the file he’d been reading.

“She’s here?” Mycroft followed Sherlock’s gaze, estimating where she must be. Though he was careful not to react, he found the idea of unseen entities in his home a very disturbing breech in security.

“She’s right behind me.” Greg looked at Mycroft, puzzled. “You can’t see her?”

“And you _can_ … fascinating.” He found himself strangely reassured by the knowledge that Greg could see her. “John, a little test, if you would. Escort Mary outside and see if the guards can see her.” He nodded towards the space where she should be. “And welcome to my home, Mary.”

“Tell him thanks.” She looked around, taking in all the exquisitely chosen and perfectly placed traditional furniture and appointments. “Bit too posh for my taste, but it’s exactly what I expected from Mycroft.”

“She says thanks, and that your house is too posh, which suits you perfectly.” John smiled a bit too politely and sauntered out, Mary trailing along behind him.

“You didn’t have to tell him that last bit.”

“Yes, I did.”

\---

Mycroft’s Dining Room: (15 April, 8:59 PM)

“A vampire? Really?” Sherlock snatched up the file, quickly scanning through the report while Greg and John went to the kitchen. “That _is_ something. Why haven’t _you_ interviewed him yet?”

“There are some… security concerns. We don’t know his motives for coming forward, and between his history and Greg’s report on his abilities, I’m not ready to meet personally with him.”

“Are you afraid of _vampires_ , Mycroft?” Sherlock’s eyes twinkled impishly.

“Don’t be absurd. It’s got nothing to do with fear. Right now, I’m the _only_ person with any real authority who’s even aware of magic, and until that situation changes, I’m the one person among us that we can’t _afford_ to lose, because I am the one with the connections to get things done. Sherlock, imagine the chaos this will cause when the general public finds out. We need to find ways to prepare for a number of potential scenarios, but we can’t do that until we understand what we’re dealing with.”

“Then _I’ll_ interview him. Set it up for tomorrow. We need to know if it’s communicable, and more about this deal with the Devil he claims he made. One vampire is manageable, but if they can do even half of what Lestrade says this chap can do, then the implications of a number of them is monstrous.”

“Obviously.”

“What happened February first, Mycroft?”

“I don’t know yet, but I do have some theories.” Mycroft frowned unhappily. “On February first, an explosion occurred at a top-secret lab…” He shot a significant look at Sherlock. _“Very_ top-secret. The upper level was decimated, and a number of personnel killed. The whole thing was quietly hushed up. The lower levels are still mostly intact, so two days later, a salvage team went in and encountered… fairies.” He sighed. “Five men went down there, and only four came out alive. Two of _them_ went mad. They’re surprisingly dangerous creatures. I now have a tactical team trying to retake the lab. There are also a couple of surviving researchers trying to capture one, but they don’t show up on film and they crumble to dust when captured, so I don’t have any solid proof. Until we retake the lower levels and see what’s down there, _how_ that is related to the rise of magic is merely speculation. I’ll give you what notes I can and the audio recording from the salvage team.”

“Good. What text did the magician use to summon the demon?”

“This one.” Mycroft handed him a ragged notebook. “He called it his _Book of Shadows_. The circle on the marked page is probably the one he used. I’ll have it copied and send to you.”

“Mycroft…” Sherlock’s eyes darted to the door leading into the kitchen. “Please do me a favor and just this once, _try_ not to antagonize John. He’s a bit touchy of the subject of… us.”

“I shall endeavor.” Mycroft tried to look sympathetic. “It must be rather difficult for him, being that _I’m not gay_ is practically his catchphrase. But what about _you_ , little brother? I really am concerned, you know.” He sighed, having resigned himself to launching a conversation he’d have avoided if it weren’t for the fact that he needed things to go well between Sherlock and John. He needed Sherlock, and Sherlock needed John.

“Me? You should know me well enough to know that I couldn’t care less if people think I’m gay. I may well be, for all I know.”

“And _you_ should know me well enough to know that’s not what I _meant_. It wasn’t easy for me, and I know it’s not easy for you either.”

“You certainly seem comfortable enough with it now.”

“I’ve never been happier, Sherlock. Greg has a way of easing things for me that I suspect John lacks, and he’s much more comfortable with his sexuality. Certain subjects make us both uncomfortable, brother dear, and I fear John lacks the… expertise you may need.”

“Greg must be quite the _expert_ if he’s got you giving sex advice after just one night.”

“I don’t want to be indelicate, but how far… _developed_ are things between the two of you?”

“You first, _brother dear_.” Sherlock smirked. “You’re the _bottom_ , I presume?” He had the rare pleasure of making his brother blush.

“Yes.” Mycroft spoke with quiet dignity, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair and looking Sherlock right in the eyes. He looked, Sherlock thought, almost insufferably pleased with himself. “Thus far, anyway. Greg doesn’t have a problem with a more… equitable arrangement should I be interested. I suspect _that_ choice is a luxury you won’t have with John.”

“Things haven’t gotten that far yet, but I’d be very surprised if you were wrong.” His voice was perfectly calm, but Mycroft could easily gauge his nervousness by his fidgeting. “Why are we even discussing this? It’s really none of your concern.”

“I’m only telling you this because I genuinely _do_ want you to be happy and I _need_ you to be able to focus on this crisis. So just listen to me for once in your life, please. I expect when it does come down to the two of you and… sex, you’re going to have to be strong. You’re going to want to panic, and I don’t think John would handle that very well. I admit I found the reality of it rather daunting at first, but Greg has a way of very gently and patiently of guiding me past my misgivings. John won’t be able to do that. You can _pretend_ otherwise if you must, but I know you find it as terrifying as I did. You’re going to have to put your own fears aside and concentrate on his, or he’ll end up running.”

“I know that, Mycroft”, he said quietly, looking around for some other subject to focus on. “About the fairies; Lestrade notes there’s been five possible sighting of them. There’s three in the file, plus the lab incident, so where’s the fifth?”

“My back garden is… infested with them.”

“And you’re just mentioning this now? Why?”

“Because I don’t want you _provoking_ them, little brother. I’ve made the back garden off limits to _everyone_. I’ve already had one groundskeeper quit, and another hospitalized. I’ve managed to placate them with offerings of milk and such, and I don’t want to take any further action until the lab can find a way to eradicate them effectively. Until then, they’re far too dangerous to antagonize.” He looked towards the kitchen doorway. “I wonder why those two have been gone so long?”

“Talking about us, one presumes. Ah, and here they come.”

\---

Mycroft’s dining room: (16 April, early AM)

“I know it’s rather late, but will you stay, for a while?”, Mycroft asked softly, as soon as the others had gone.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Greg reached down, grasping Mycroft’s hand and pulling him to his feet. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

“You were? You don’t regret… being with me?”

“Why would I regret it? Mycroft… I _want_ you. I’ve wanted you for a long time, and the only thing I regret is it didn’t happen sooner.” Mycroft had always seemed so entirely confident, often verging on arrogant, but Greg had discovered he had another side to him, one that was shy, uncertain of himself and very vulnerable. He found it both touching and sad, and although he didn’t ask, he wondered what had happened in his past to make this brilliant, proud, sexy man so insecure about his desirability. “You really don’t get how sexy you are. Come on…” He took his hand, hoping he could remember where the bedroom was. “Let me show you how much I want you.”

\---

Taxicab: (16 April, early am)

It had been a long night and they were finally headed back to Baker street. Sherlock had demanded quiet, as he often did, so John stared out the window, lost in thought and watching the rain. He kept thinking back on the conversation he’d had with Greg. He envied Greg’s easy confidence, and he knew he was right. He’d have to find a way to get past own his fears and uncertainties and put Sherlock’s needs first, or he’d end up destroying him.

He refocused his eyes, watching Sherlock’s reflection appear and disappear as light played across the glass. John wondered if he’d ever understand how he could have come to feel as he did about him, or why. When had friendship turned into love? Why had loving him turned into being _in_ love with him? How had he become so incredibly physically attracted to him?

Greg had been right about Sherlock’s courage as well, and it made John feel like a coward in comparison. The man sitting beside him, who’d lived so long denying any sort of sentimental or sexual needs, had been the one with the courage to take that leap of faith and make the first move, one John knew he’d have never been able to make. He remembered the fear he’d seen in Sherlock’s eyes earlier that afternoon, when he’d begged John to never leave him. For Sherlock, showing that much vulnerability had been an act of courage too.

John turned to Sherlock and slowly reached out, taking his hand in his own. He half-expected to get snapped at for interrupting his train of thought, but Sherlock just smiled, entwining his long fingers with John’s.

“Will you stay, tonight?” Sherlock asked softly.

“If you’d like.” John smiled back, almost shyly and squeezed his hand a little tighter. _“I’d_ like that, very much.”

 “Then it’s settled.” They settled back into silence for the rest of the ride home, each trying to conceal their own nervous anticipation from the other.

\---

Mycroft’s bedroom: (16 April, early AM)

“Greg, I…” The previous evening, Mycroft had dashed into his closet, undressed and put a dressing gown on before hurriedly removing it and diving under the sheets. Tonight, Greg had followed him into the closet and was standing behind him, unbuttoning his waistcoat. He tried to remain calm, but he felt terribly exposed. “I can do this myself…”

“Yeah, I figured you could”, Greg said drily, then grinned, kissing Mycroft’s neck. “But this is more fun. It’s kinda a turn-on, stripping you outta your clothes.” He took his own shirt off as Mycroft carefully hung up his waistcoat, then went to work on Mycroft’s shirt buttons.

“Fun? I don’t… _ohh_ …” His protest died in his throat as Greg unbuttoned his trousers and slid his hand inside, caressing his cock through his pants.

“See? Fun.” Greg grinned, pressing his cock against his arse through the layers of fabric as Mycroft bent to remove his shoes. “God, you got a great arse.”

“I’ve never been told that before, though I’ve been called one on several occasions…” Feeling very self-conscious, he removed his trousers and tried to hang them neatly, a task made more difficult yet somehow more pleasant by Greg nibbling on his neck.

“Look how hard you made me, bending over like that.” Greg kicked off his shoes and stripped off his trousers and pants, standing there unabashedly nude with his cock jutting out proudly. “God, I can’t wait to get you naked and in bed.”

“I’m rather looking forward to that myself.” Mycroft smiled shyly, trying to hold his stomach in as Greg pulled his underclothes off. It took a good deal of self-control not to run to the safety of hiding under the sheets as Greg led him to the bed.

“I suppose it seems tiresome to you; my insistence on seeing things put properly away…”

“Nah, not a bit. It’s kinda like unwrapping a present.” Greg laid down beside him and leaned close, taking him into his arms for a deep, lingering kiss. He could feel the tightness in his lover’s muscles. “You seem tense. Relax, lover; there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“I know you must realize I’m not very experienced with this sort of thing. You… you’re the first man I’ve ever been with.” Mycroft blushed faintly, embarrassed by his lack of experience.

“Mycroft, do you want me? Do you wanna be with me?” Greg smiled, tenderly running his hand down the side of Mycroft’s face and gazing into his deep blue-grey eyes.

“Very much so.”

“Then that’s all that matters, ‘cause I want you too. I’ve never wanted anybody more that I want you.” He kissed him again, hands gently caressing his body. He felt his lover begin to relax, responding to his touch. He kissed his neck, finding the shivery spot behind his ear, then slowly began working his way down his body. Greg glanced up, seeing Mycroft’s eyes widen as he licked the head of his cock.

“You don’t… _ohh_ … you don’t have to do that…”

“Yeah, but I wanna. Unless you don’t like it.”

“I just don’t want you to feel… _ahh_ … obligated.” He moaned softly as Greg licked him again, reluctant to admit that a good deal of his hesitation came from the fact that he’d never had a blow job. His own experience with oral sex had been both humiliating and unpleasant, and he never wanted Greg to feel that way with him.

“Mycroft.” Greg slid back up his body, kissing him again, then leaning in close enough so that his breath tickled his lover’s neck. “I _like_ givin’ blow jobs. How’s this: I’m gonna tell you exactly what I wanna do, and you tell me if that sounds like something you’d like.”

“That sounds… very equitable.”

“I’m gonna slid a pillow under your hips so I can reach you, then lube up my fingers and slip them inside you while I suck you. I wanna make you hot for my cock. I want you to _need_ me inside you. And when you’re writhing and panting with desire, I’m gonna put it inside that sexy, hot, tight arse of yours and make love to you until you’re shaking with pleasure. Then I’m gonna fill that sweet arse of yours with my cum, ‘cause watching you orgasm just drives me wild. And I hope you’re still hard after that, ‘cause I wanna suck you again, until you cum in my mouth. I wanna taste you, lover,and I want you to taste yourself on my lips. That sound okay with you?”

“I… yes.” Mycroft swallowed hard, panting slightly, and handed him the lube with a shy but eager smile. “It sounds glorious.”

\---

221B Baker Street: (16 April, early AM)

“So… Here we are," John said inanely, placing his coat on the hook it’d hung from for so many years. It occurred to him that his place was just that; only a place, but the little flat on Baker street would always feel like home.

“So it would seem.”

They stood there, staring at each other for a while, both unsure what to do next. After a minute, they both started to speak at once, stopped and started to laugh.

“You first.” Sherlock said. “I insist.”

“All right.” They looked around the room, which was still in shambles from their earlier attempt at magic. They settled on the sofa instead of their usual chairs and sat facing each other. John reached out and took Sherlock’s hand, gathering his courage. “What I want to say is I… I had a little chat with Greg while we were in the kitchen, and he made me realize how much courage it must have taken for you to make the first move. I’ve been so caught up with what’s going on in my own mind that I haven’t even stopped to consider _your_ needs, and I’m sorry for that. You deserve better than that from me, and I’m going to try to be the man you need me to be. What you said earlier; that I could do better than you…. No one could _ever_ do better than to be with you. You’re beautiful, and amazing and so brave… If you want us to be out, that’s something I’ll just have to come to terms with, and if there’s something I can do to make this easier for you, something you need from me, I want you to tell me.”

“I was about to say something similar about making things easier for you. John, no one need ever to know about us if that’s what you want. It’s really none of their business anyway, and I’m perfectly comfortable with letting you tell people what you want to tell them, when and if you do.”

“I appreciate that. I just don’t want you to think I’m not proud to be with you. I _am_ , it’s just…”

“Confusing? Don’t think I don’t understand, John. I _do_. It’s confusing to me as well. You’re not gay, and I’m… me, and none of this makes any sense. It’s not rational. Love isn’t rational. Desire isn’t… rational. I don’t understand why I want you and you don’t understand why you want me.” He shrugged. “But yet here we are, _wanting_ each other.”

“I wish I _did_ understand, but maybe… maybe we don’t need to.” John leaned forward, kissing him gently. “Are you afraid, Sherlock?”

“Afraid?”, he laughed ruefully. “I’m bloody terrified. Sentiment doesn’t come naturally to me. Love is something that happens to _other_ people, and it’s always seemed to me that people tend to lose themselves when they fall in love. But I’ve come to realize that I’m lost _without_ you. I couldn’t bear losing you, and while I may have other fears, that is by far the greatest.”

“My biggest fear is hurting _you_. I’m scared too, Sherlock. I think I’m afraid of myself, really. This is uncharted territory for me, making love to a man, and I can’t promise there won’t be moments when I panic… and if I do, don’t think I don’t want you. I do.”

“John, about that… the sex, I mean; I don’t want you to feel that you have to do anything you don’t want. You’ve said before that I always have to have things _my_ way, and honestly, I don’t think that’ll change…” He gave John a quick, impish grin. “But not in bed. I know you’re used to being… dominant. We’ll do things _your_ way there.”

“I’ve been worried about that, actually”, he admitted. “I don’t think I could bring myself to let you… you know.”

“Top you?”

“Yeah, that.” He flushed crimson. “Are you really okay with that?”

“I’d imagine so. Mycroft seems quite content.”

“I did _not_ need to know that.” He shuddered, shaking his head to get the mental image out. “I just want to make sure _you’re_ okay with it.”

“There’s only one way to know.” He leaned forward, his voice soft, his breath tickling John’s ear. “I need _data_ , John.” Sherlock pulled him to his feet, still whispering passionately into his ear. “I want to know what it’s like to feel you inside me. Do _you_ want that, John? Do you want me?”

“Oh, God, _yes_.” Body tingling with sudden desire, he pulled his head down, kissing him hungrily. Sherlock led him to his room, casually dragging his coat along with him.

\---

Sherlock’s Bedroom: (16 April, early AM)

Slowly stripping each other’s clothes off as they kissed, they made their way to the bed, leaving behind a trail of jackets, shirts, shoes and socks. Sherlock’s nimble fingers had made short work of unfastening John’s trousers, and they slid down around his hips. Suddenly self-conscious, John fumbled with the button fastening Sherlock’s slacks.

“Let me.”  Sherlock quickly undid his trousers, shimmying out of them. He knelt, slowly nibbling his way down John’s body, sliding his trousers and pants off as he did. John might have been self-conscious, but his cock wasn’t, and it practically leapt into Sherlock’s hands.

Any panic John might have felt disappeared as Sherlock bent his head, licking and kissing his cock. The thought of seeing Sherlock’s lips wrapped around his cock made it throb.

“John…” Hiding his fear, Sherlock glanced up at him, his moon-grey eyes filled with desire. “Tell me if I do this wrong…”, he murmured, then swallowed him entire.

“Oh my God!” John gasped. A wave of pleasure went through him as Sherlock’s throat muscles constricted, and he entangled his fingers in his hair, moaning. He looked down, watching in erotic fascination as his lover’s head slid up and down the shaft. Slightly weak in the knees, he put his free hand on Sherlock’s shoulder to steady himself. He soon felt himself nearing climax and somewhat reluctantly, he pulled away.

“Did I do it wrong?”, he asked, peering up at John through his long dark lashes.

“No. I…” John pulled him to his feet and onto the bed, kissing him ardently. “You did that _very_ right. If you’ve never done that, then how on earth..?”

“I spent three weeks with a carnival once.” He waited for John to look confused, then laughed. “As a sword swallower.”

“Time well spent”, John murmured appreciatively. He reached over, running his fingers through Sherlock’s dark curls and pulling him close for another kiss. His hand slid down his lover’s back, tugging at the waistband of his pants. A sudden thought occurred to him, and he frowned.

“Is something wrong?” Sherlock’s brow knitted, and he looked at John with worried eyes. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want.”

“No, I do! But I don’t want to hurt you and we’re going to need…”

“Check my left coat pocket.” Sherlock interrupted him, grinning as John grabbed the coat off the end of the bed and pulled out a bottle of lube and a small box of rubbers.

“That sure of yourself, were you?” He said teasingly. He turned back to his lover to see that in the couple of seconds his back had been turned, Sherlock had somehow removed his pants and rolled onto his belly. His eyes roamed down the scarred, ivory skin, taking in the sharp blades of his shoulders, the narrow waist and his lean, dimpled arse. It was a man’s body, all taut muscle and angled planes, but John wanted him so bad he ached. He wondered if he might not be a little bit gay after all.

“I’m clean; I’ve never shared needles, so we don’t _need_ the rubbers unless you’d rather…” John was staring at him, mouth hanging slack and eyes wide. “John?”

“You take my breath away”, he said reverently, running his hand across the cool skin, caressing his arse. Pouring a bit of lube into his hand, he straddled Sherlock’s legs and bent low, tenderly nipping at his neck. Sherlock shivered, intoxicated by the meeting of fear and desire. John’s oil-slicked fingers slid between his arse cheeks, teasing at the opening in slow spirals until he could feel his lover arching into his touch. Gently, he slipped one finger inside, slowly slipping it in-and-out.

Sherlock’s body tensed for a moment as John slipped another finger in, and he willed himself to relax. His heart was pounding and his breath quickening, and he wondered if it was from panic or desire. Then John found his prostate and he soon began to tremble as a wave of unexpected pleasure sent flights of goosebumps across his skin.

John’s cock was straining with need and he had to force himself to go slowly until he thought his lover was ready for him. He slid his fingers out and quickly spread some oil on his cock, pressing the tip against the entrance. Sherlock gasped as he pushed inside him. It took all John’s self-control, but he waited for a moment, giving Sherlock’s body time to adjust to the sensation. Then he began to move, slowly sliding in-and-out. He slid his arm under his lover, lifting him up to his knees and wrapping it around his waist while his other hand, still slick with oil, circled Sherlock’s cock. Any hesitation John might have had about taking another man’s cock in his hand was swept away by his passion and his desire to feel Sherlock cum with him inside him.

As their bodies began to move together, time seemed to stop, and the world faded away until each of them knew nothing but the other. Their moans grew louder as they neared climax. John growled, driving himself in deep as Sherlock came, crying out John’s name. John finished moments later, emptying himself into his lover, and the two collapsed together, lying intertwined in sticky, insensate bliss.

“I can’t feel my toes, John.” Sherlock grinned, rolling over to face him. “Is that normal?” All his fears had vanished in the moment, and all he felt was a giddy, unfamiliar sense of happiness that was far better than any high he’d ever got from drugs.

“I don’t know _what’s_ normal anymore, and frankly, right now I don’t care.” John leaned over, kissing him. “All I know is I love you.”

“I… love you too.” Sherlock said softly. He scooted over closer, escaping the wet spot he’d made and laid his head on John’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. “It’s hard for me to say, even to you. I’ve never said that to anyone before. Well, except that one time to Molly, and that was under duress. You’ll have to tell me if I don’t say it enough.” 

“I will.” John wrapped his arms around him, yawning. “We should probably clean up and change the sheets, but I don’t think I can move.”

“Good. I don’t _want_ you to move.” He closed his eyes, snuggling in deeper, listening to the soothing rhythm of John’s heart. “Good night, John. And thank you.”

“For what?”

“Completing me as a human being.”

As Sherlock fell asleep in his arms, John lay there thinking. He’d just had sex with another man and he had no regrets. Making love to Sherlock was everything he never dared to imagine. He drifted off to sleep with a smile.

\---

221B Baker Street: (16 April, mid-morning)

When John woke, he was alone. He froze, hearing voices in the next room. Quietly as possible and gathering his clothes as he went, he listened at the door, thankful it was closed for once.

“Sherlock Holmes! What have you done now, young man? What’s all this mess on my floors?”

“Just a failed experiment, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Experiment? It looks more like you’ve been trying to summon the devil.” John swore he could _hear_ her glaring. Unable to find his pants, he hastily pulled on his trousers and shirt, weighing his need to pee against his embarrassment.

“Oh, _do_ calm down. It’s _washable.”_ He heard the tea tray rattle as she sat it down, and his stomach growled. Unable to wait any longer, he dashed to the bathroom. She was still there when he finished, squealing in outrage.

“And… she’s _seen_ the kitchen”, he mumbled. He hesitated, then shrugged, deciding that she might as well know. Summoning what dignity he could, he padded barefoot into the lounge.

“Good morning, Mrs. Hudson.”

“John! I didn’t know you were here, or I’d have brought more tea…” She stared at him in surprise, looking him up and down, from tousled hair to bare feet. “Oh, _my.”_

“Good Morning, John. Tea?” A sly smile curled at the corner of Sherlock’s mouth. He was clad only in a pair of trousers and his dressing gown, his hair still damp from bathing, and John felt his heart leap in his chest. He wondered again how he had gone so long without noticing how truly beautiful Sherlock was.

“Yes, please.” Sherlock had evidently dragged his chair back into place, and John took his accustomed seat as he handed him a steaming mug. “Thank you. Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You looked too peaceful. Besides, we have a long day ahead and I want you well rested.”

“The two of _you,_ after all this time?” Mrs. Hudson looked at the pair in astonishment. “Are you out now, then?”

“I’m… only gay for Sherlock.” John blushed, but grinned. “We’re thinking of putting that on a t-shirt.”

“Well good for _you_ , dear. Live and let live, I always say. Shall I bring more tea?”

“I think not. Greg’s due over soon. Are you hungry, John?”

“Famished.” John gulped down the tea. “I’ll call down for a sandwich and get changed.”

“Well, don’t think I’m going to clean all this mess up, boys.” She tried, somewhat unsuccessfully, to hide her smile. John had always been good for Sherlock, and she couldn’t have been happier for them both.

\---

 

221B Baker Street: (16 April, noon)

“So,” said Greg. “I set up a meeting for you with our vampire for two o’clock this afternoon. His info’s on the flash drive, and I put the copy of the file with my notes on the top of the pile.” He set the flash drive down on the large stack of files he’d dropped off. “Be _careful_ , you two. He’s not as powerful in the daylight; or at least he _claims_ he’s not, but he’s dangerous.”

“An interview with a vampire?” John chuckled, and Sherlock looked over at him curiously. “It’s a movie, Sherlock.”

“Yeah, well _this_ is no movie, John. I’m not kidding, this guy is definitely the real deal. I’ve seen a lot of stuff, but the things this guy can do are _seriously_ scary.”

“So, should we get some wooden stakes and garlic, just in case?” John was only half joking, despite the smile on his face.

“Judging by Greg’s report, it wouldn’t do us much good.” Sherlock grabbed the flash drive and slid it into his computer, studying the background check Mycroft had done on him.

“Nah, he’s _way_ too fast for that.” Greg shuddered, remembering how the man had moved across the room faster than he could see. “He says his top running speed clocks out at a little under 80 kilometers an hour, and I got no reason to doubt him.”

John let out a low whistle of amazement. “What else can he do? Does he turn into a bat?”

“Yeah, _and_ a wolf.” Greg snorted. “And _mist_. Th’ guy just dissolved right in front of me. Plus, he’s strong as hell.”

“What about hypnosis? Aren’t vampires supposed to be able to do that?”

“He says not, but I dunno.” Greg shrugged. “So far, all I’ve got is his word and a few demonstrations of what he can do to go by. Oh, and he can summon rats.”

“Rats?”

“Yeah. He told me to look out the window, and there must have been fifty of the little bastards out there, just starin’ up at me.” His face contorted in disgust. “That’s why Mycroft wanted me to set this meeting up during the day. He claims he can only do most of that shit at night.”

“So, sunlight doesn’t kill him?”

“Apparently not.”

“Have you spoken to Molly yet?” Sherlock glanced up from the computer screen. “It would be good to examine him in the lab tonight.”

“Yeah, about that…” Greg grimaced. “I tried, but there was a problem. I’m gonna meet with her at Mycroft’s tonight.”

“Problem? What problem?”

“Me.” Greg sighed. “Mycroft’s right about magic gettin’ stronger. It seems the reason I could see Mary last night is because I’ve become a bloody medium in the last couple of days.”

“Interesting.”

“Not the word I’d use…” Greg growled. “I forgot she was off, so I dropped by the morgue. Guy there today probably thinks I’m a total nutter. _You_ try havin’ a conversation with somebody with a bunch of ghosts roaming around.”

“How many? Were they like Mary?”

“Nah, they were like… I dunno, a bunch of zombies or something, just shambling around naked, mutterin’ gibberish. They _looked_ dead. One of them was missin’ half his _head_. Creepy as _fuck_ , and transparent too. And _they_ can walk through stuff.”

“That _is_ fascinating. I wonder if there’s more than one kind of ghost, or if new ones are just weaker.” Sherlock sat with his hands folded in front of his face, thinking. “It might be helpful if you went to a cemetery to see what happens. It could well be that _all_ of the recently dead create some sort of temporary ghost.”

“I’m already on it, thanks to Mycroft.” He grinned ruefully. “I’m going by right after I leave here. I’ll let you know if I see anything.”

“Well, we’ll see you later tonight, then.”  Sherlock turned back to the computer, engrossed in reading Mycroft’s report.

I’ll see you out.” John looked over at Sherlock. “Are you sure you don’t want anything from the café?” Sherlock waved at him dismissively, not even looking up. John shrugged and followed Greg down the stairs.

“I didn’t get the chance last night, and I wanted to thank you for that little talking to you gave me.” John smiled at Greg. “It really did help to put things in perspective.”

“Good. So, things are alright with you two?”

“Better than alright. He says he doesn’t care, but I think I’m over the idea of keeping us a secret. It just doesn’t feel… right.”

“Knowing Sherlock, he probably _doesn’t_ care, but I think you’ve made the right decision. Being out means you don’t gotta worry about blackmail.”

“I never thought of that, but you’re right. You’re a good friend, Greg, to both of us, and I appreciate it.”

“Think nothing of it. Feel free to come to me if you ever need any more advice, okay?”

“I will…”, he hesitated, blushing. “There is _one_ thing, but it’s a bit… intimate.”

“I’m listening. You don’t gotta be embarrassed, talking to me about this stuff.”

“It’s just that… Look, with him having been a virgin up to now, I don’t want him to feel like he’s missing out on something, but I just can’t imagine ever letting him…” He sighed, obviously struggling to get the words out.

“Let me guess. You’re a top, and your worried he’s not gonna be satisfied with bein’ a bottom the rest of his life.”

“Basically, yeah.”

“That’s because you’re thinking like a straight guy. People like different things. Some guys _like_ being the bottom. I dated a guy in Uni for a couple of weeks that didn’t do anything but oral.” He shrugged, suppressing a smile as he watched John blush. “With Mycroft, I gave him the option if he wants, but as long as I get to top sometimes I don’t mind being the bottom if my partner’s into it. Actually, I prefer being versatile, but I wouldn’t give you _that_ advice though, because he doesn’t need you freaking out on him in the middle of things.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure freaking out would be an understatement.” His brow furrowed as Greg’s words sank in. “You don’t _mind_ being the bottom?”, he blurted out.

“Christ, John, why _would_ I? You’re a doctor, so you gotta know there’s a sweet spot there, and it’s a whole different kind of orgasm if the top knows what he’s doin’. And if he don’t, as long as he’s versatile too, it’s just not that big a deal for me.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m strictly a top. I’m just not as…versatile as you.”

“There’s nothing wrong in being a top, John. If that’s who you are, then that’s something he’s gonna to have to accept. Once you get past all this _I’m not gay_ nonsense, maybe you’ll get curious; maybe you won’t. As long as you’re makin’ sure he’s satisfied too, there’s no right or wrong here.”

“I’m pretty sure I got _that_ part right, at least.” John grinned, confident that Sherlock had _definitely_ been satisfied last night. “Thanks again, Greg. It really helps, talking to you like this.”

“No problem. I’ll see you two tonight.”

\---

221B Baker Street: (16 April, noon)

“Sherlock!”

“Oh, hello Mary.” Sherlock glanced up from the screen.

“I thought for a minute there you couldn’t hear me anymore. Where’s John?”

“Downstairs, probably discussing our sex life with Greg.”

“So, he _did_ spend the night. I was hoping he would. So, you two did the deed?” Her somewhat gleeful grin went unnoticed, as Sherlock’s eyes were glued to the screen while he quickly scrolled through the information.

“I’m not a virgin anymore, if that’s what you mean.”

“Good for you. How was it? He’s quite good, isn’t he?”

“ _Quite_ so.” He didn’t look up, but a quick smile flashed across his lips.

“I’m glad he’s got Greg to talk to.” She walked across the room, peering over Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Greg’s discovered he’s a medium, so that mystery is solved, by the way.”

“Challenger. That’s the vampire’s name, isn’t it?” She studied the screen. “Professor George Edward Challenger… his ancestor?”

“Yes. We’re meeting him at two. He seems quite obsessed with this ancestor of his and I’m trying to get some insight into his motives.”

“Doctor, anthropologist, explorer… that’s quite a reputation to live up to.”

“Indeed. It also seems that in the latter part of his career, he became engrossed in the supernatural. It may be significant.”

“Mary!” John bounded to the room, coming to a sudden stop when he saw her. “I, uh… hi. I was just seeing Greg off… He found out he’s a medium, by the way.” It was an effort not to stare at the floor while he spoke.

“Yeah, Sherlock told me. John, as adorable as you are when you blush like that, all this embarrassment isn’t necessary. I’m _happy_ you two are a couple.”

“He said something to Mrs. Hudson this morning about having an _I’m only gay for Sherlock_ shirt made up.” Sherlock murmured.

“Aw, I bet she was pleased. I’m not just here to gossip though. I have some news. I moved something!”

“What?” Sherlock turned to look at her.

“I was with Rosie earlier, and she dropped her favorite ball. I rolled it back to her.”

“Show me.” Sherlock sprang up, rummaging around the flat and returning with a marble and placing it on the floor in front of her. She knelt, reaching out to it. It wobbled, then on her third try, rolled into the kitchen.

“Can you pick things up?”

“No. I tried moving other things, and I managed a leaf, and some wind chimes, a bit. It’s like the resistance I feel with walls. I can’t feel it really, but if I concentrate hard enough and push against it, it moves.”

“That _is_ interesting.”

“There’s something else too, and it worries me. I killed a bug. Several, actually.”

“Cold?”

“Yes. I’m glad I’ve been cautious about touching John and Rosie.”

“I think a little experiment is in order. John, where did you put the toad?”

“I’m not killing a toad.” She sat on the arm of John’s chair, looking up defiantly at Sherlock.

“You were an assassin, Mary. Don’t be silly.”

“It’s not silly. Now that I’ve lost mine, I’m _done_ taking lives. I feel a bit guilty about the bugs, really.”

“Did you feel a sense of warmth with the bugs?”

“A bit.” She looked over at John, guiltily. “That’s why I don’t want to kill anything else. It felt… good. _Too_ good. I never _enjoyed_ killing. I liked the excitement of being an agent, and sometimes there was a bit of satisfaction knowing I’d put an end to someone monstrous, but killing people was just… part of the job.”

“Mary doesn’t have to kill a toad if she doesn’t want to.” John gave Sherlock a warning glance and rolled his eyes. “And _there_ is a sentence I never thought I’d have to say.”

“Yes, yes _fine_. John, if you’re not going to help, straighten up things a bit before our guest arrives. I have some research to do.” Sherlock picked up the laptop and the stack of files, heading to his room. “And do put the carpet back. The less he knows about what we’re up to, the better.

\---


	5. A Conductor of Light

221B Baker Street: (16 April, 2:00PM)

“Good afternoon, Mr. Challenger. We’re glad you could come by.” Hiding his nervousness, John reached out to shake his hand. The man had a firm grip, and his skin felt cool.

“Thank you, Dr. Watson. I must say, I do enjoy your blog.” He smiled broadly, revealing a set of perfect white teeth with slightly lengthened, sharp canines. Thomas Challenger was a tall man; 6’3” and broad shouldered, with handsomely chiseled features marred only by a slender scar running above his right eye and disappearing into his thick raven hair. He was dressed in an immaculately tailored dark suit that John estimated cost more than he made in two months. Despite the cloudiness of the day, he wore a pair of dark sunglasses. “You’ll have to invite me in formally, I’m afraid. One of more annoying rules of my condition.”

“Oh, yes, um… Please come in.” He stepped inside, removing his sunglasses to reveal a pair of startlingly green eyes, and followed John up the stairs to the flat.

“Do come in and have a seat, Mr. Challenger.” Sherlock studied him as he entered, somewhat puzzled. He could see nothing beyond what he already knew, and he was reminded of Irene Adler.

“It’s a great pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Holmes.” He settled in the chair they traditionally reserved for clients. “I’ve been an admirer of your work for some time.”

“Thank you. As you must expect, I have some questions for you.”

“Certainly. As I told Inspector Lestrade, I’m happy to be of assistance. Please feel free to ask me anything that you feel appropriate.”

“You told Inspector Lestrade you gained your abilities from the Devil. How?”

“I was in Los Angeles last month for a business matter. While I was there, I heard rumors that a local nightclub owner was capable of granting favors of a most extraordinary nature. I did a background check and while all his documents seem in order, there is absolutely no record of him beyond five years ago. Strangely enough, he also seems to be some sort of free-lance consultant for the LAPD’s homicide department. Intrigued, I paid him a visit. He claimed to be the Devil.”  He smiled at Sherlock and John shivered slightly. Friendly as he seemed, there was something distinctly predatory about him when he smiled. “I was, of course, highly doubtful.”

“And his name?”

“Lucifer Morningstar. Interestingly, by his accent I’d say he’s British, but of course he claims a quite different place of origin. He owns a nightclub called Lux.”

“Why vampirism, Mr. Challenger?”

“A whim. I’ve always been fascinated by the legends, and it seemed a good test of his abilities. I didn’t believe him, obviously, but as it turned out, they’re quite genuine.”

“And how did he effect this change in you?”

“I don’t know. He instructed me to go back to my hotel and warned me to put out the Do Not Disturb sign. I have a vague recollection of disturbing dreams that night, but I can’t recall the specifics of it beyond the sense of experiencing what I can only describe as sleep paralysis. When I awoke, it was three nights later, and I was as I am now; a vampire.”

“How would you describe him?”

“Handsome, incredibly charming… _a man of wealth and taste_ , as the song goes. He’s quite a gifted musician as well. He seems to have some power of mesmerism. He asked me what my deepest desire was, and I found myself compelled to answer.”

“And your answer?”

“Adventure. I assume you know of my ancestor, Professor Edward Challenger. I’ve studied the accounts of his exploits since I was a boy. He was a most remarkable man.” His emerald eyes shone with pride.

“What you can tell me about Mr. Morningstar? What did he require in exchange for his favor?”

“Other than being surprisingly scrupulous about ensuring certain promises from me before he granted my favor, he asked for nothing. I’m not allowed to kill except in self-defense; an easy vow to make, as I’m not by nature a violent man. He also instructed me that I wasn’t to transform anyone else without his express permission and made it quite clear that violating my word would have dire consequences.”

“What kinds of consequences?”

“Losing my state as a vampire, which, as I am already undead, would leave me truly dead. There was an implied threat that it would result in my spending an eternity in Hell.”

“Wouldn’t accepting favors from the Devil, or vampirism, for that matter, assure that anyway?”

“He said not, and that I still have the free will required to determine my ultimate fate. He could have been lying, of course, but I tend to think not based off my personal impression of him.”

“Couldn’t he have also been a vampire? How do you know he’s truly who he says he is?”

“He made me promise to return once I rose. He has a flat above the club with a large mirror, in which he reflected, and I did not. There’s also the matter of the wings.”

“Wings?” John looked up from his notebook in astonishment. “I’d think something like that would draw a lot of attention.”

“I can only presume you’ve never been to L.A., Dr. Watson.” Challenger chuckled. “But it seems they only appear at certain times. I got the distinct impression that under some circumstances, he has difficulty suppressing them. And before you ask, I’m positive they were real. I had the opportunity to examine them in rather intimate detail. They’re extraordinarily beautiful; exactly what one would expect from a former archangel.”

“What circumstances caused him to reveal them?”

“A sexual encounter, which was, as one might imagine, the most extraordinary one of my life thus far.”

“You’re gay?” John blurted it out and then blushed faintly. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

“I prefer to think of myself as adventuresome, Dr. Watson. An encounter with an unearthly being was far too intriguing to decline.”

“And if he were to grant his permission, how would you go about transforming someone into a vampire?”

“I’d have to drain them of blood to the point of near death, and then have them drink from me in return. He told me that even then, there would be no guarantee it would work and in most cases, it would only result in the person’s death. It is, apparently, a difficult condition to pass on. All things considered, I must say it’s for the best. A person with my abilities would be a formidable danger should he use his abilities for evil purposes.”

“Indeed. What prompted you to come forward and reveal yourself to Inspector Lestrade?”

“I have an acquaintance who fancies himself a bit of a magician. Complete rubbish in his case, from what I can tell, but he told me about the Inspector’s inquiries. Even before my transformation, I couldn’t fail to notice a sharp increase in the number of supernatural phenomena being reported in the tabloids and on certain online forums. Since becoming a vampire, I’ve seen several ghosts, one of which haunts my ancestral home, and had an encounter with a werewolf. It seems to me that law enforcement is ill-equipped to deal with such things, and perhaps inspired a bit by Lucifer, I thought I could be of service. What could possibly be a greater adventure than to explore the supernatural?”

“And weren’t you concerned that revealing yourself could put you in danger?”

“What’s adventure without danger, Mr. Holmes?”

“Quite so. What of the werewolf?”

“Despite the lurid tabloid accounts, he’s rather a nice chap, not at all the bloodthirsty monster he’s been made out to be. As it turns out, the woman whose car he attacked is his now former girlfriend, who’d been cheating on him with his employer. He assures me he meant her no harm, and I believe him.”

“I’ve seen the photos of the car. If he’s not dangerous, then why did he destroy it?”

“He bought it for her as a gift, and then discovered she was using it as a rendezvous with her new lover. It was an act of rage, yes, but if he’d meant her harm, she would undoubtedly be dead. He’s not some kill-crazed beast, roaming the city by the full moon. I’ve seen him transform, and he’s very much in control of his faculties.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a flash drive and handing it to Sherlock. “I assumed you’d be interested in my encounters, so I’ve detailed them here for you. I would ask that should you decide to speak with him, you allow me to serve as your liaison. He doesn’t have the protection that my wealth and position afford me, and he’s very much afraid of being killed or experimented on.”

“Speaking of which, would you be amenable to an examination under laboratory conditions?”

“Not as yet. I don’t want to insult you, but caution seems warranted in this case. Like my furry acquaintance, I don’t wish to find myself being vivisected. I’d be glad to let Dr. Watson examine me here if you wish, but until we know each other better, I must decline any examination under conditions I can’t control.”

Grabbing his medical bag from his bedroom, John carried out what examination he could. Challenger’s body was room temperature, he had no heartbeat, and his canines were retractable and hollow. With his permission, John drew a small blood sample.

“How much blood must you consume?” John asked in slightly horrified fascination.

“About a pint an evening, although I can go several days with little ill effect. I’m sure you know I fund a blood clinic, so you can rest assured I’m not stalking hapless maidens in the night.”

“Have you ever taken blood directly from someone?”

“Yes, twice. Once with one of my lovers, who was unharmed, as I was careful to take a very small amount. The wound was minor and healed by the next morning. She said the experience was quite erotic, and I must agree from my perspective. The first time was with Lucifer; his way of teaching me how to do it without damaging my partner.”

“And was drinking the Devil’s blood different than that of a mortal?”, asked Sherlock.

“Yes. It was intoxicating, quite literally. With my lover, I had no problem stopping, but Lucifer had to physically force me to stop. He is exceptionally strong, even in comparison to me. It’s the only time I’ve lost control, and he assured me it was due to the nature of his blood.”

“Do you eat or drink?”

“I can, but I have no desire for it. It may be useful in certain social situations, but it’s an experience I’d rather not repeat if I can avoid it. My sense of taste has changed, and anything other than blood must eventually exit my body via the same route it entered.”

“So you don’t have any… bodily functions?”

“I breath, but that’s just to avoid casual suspicion… and to speak, of course. I’m still capable of normal sexual arousal. The only thing that’s changed in that department is I ejaculate a small amount of blood instead of semen. I must also assume my scent has changed. None of my human companions has noticed any difference, but my werewolf friend says I have a different scent than a human. He could only describe it as fainter, and slightly sweet.”

“I do want to interview him, as soon as possible.” Sherlock sat, hands folded in front of his face, studying their strange visitor. “This has all been very fascinating. I presume you’ll make yourself available, should I have any further questions?”

“Certainly. As I said, I want to help and working with you would be quite an honor. I’ve put my contact information on the flash drive, including my personal number. I look forward to hearing from you soon and am willing to devote myself and my resources to your investigation.”

“Thank you. I’m sure I’ll be in contact very soon.”

Shaking Sherlock’s hand and bidding John farewell, he donned his sunglasses and left. John started to speak, but Sherlock shushed him until they heard the front door close behind him.

“So, what do you think? Do you believe his story?” John shuddered slightly. “Personally, I see why Greg warned us about him. It’s a bit like being in a room with a tiger; no matter how tame it’s supposed to be, it’s still a tiger.”

“An interesting impression, and probably an accurate one. He is, after all, a predator in the literal sense of the word.” Sherlock frowned. “I can’t read much from him, John. He’s much like Irene Adler in that respect.”

“Do you think we’ll want to work with him?”

“Perhaps. His motives for wanting to help do fit his profile. He takes pride in his connection with his ancestor, and Professor Challenger spent the latter part of his career unsuccessfully pursuing the supernatural. It is the one field in which he might surpass his discoveries.”

“But what kind of man asks the Devil to turn him into a vampire on a whim?”

“Either a very foolish man, or a desperate one.”

“He didn’t strike me as being either one.”

“There is little left in our modern age to challenge an adventuresome man like him, John. It may have been the desperation of boredom that led him to take such a chance. Having a man like Professor Challenger as one’s role model would be frustrating in a world with no new frontiers to explore.”

“I suppose so. I can see how useful an ally he’d make.” John said dubiously. “Still, there’s just something about him that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. What would we do if he turned on us?”

“Perhaps we’ll find that answer in his blood sample. Other than a slight sensitivity to sunlight, which the glasses indicate, he’s not yet shared any real vulnerabilities that would be useful in a fight… except perhaps wood.”

“How does that help? It’s not as if he’s going to stand still so we can pound a stake through his heart.”

“No, but a wooden bullet might suffice. I’ll talk to Mycroft about having some made. Speaking of which, if Molly’s going to be there tonight, you might want to see if Mrs. Hudson is available to babysit.”

“Yeah, I don’t think your brother would be happy if I brought her.” John grinned, picturing Mycroft’s distress over Rosie crawling around on his antique rugs.

“Mary’s quite right, you know. About the nanny.”

“I know”, he sighed. “It’s just hard, leaving some stranger to look after her. I’ll need to get a nanny cam.”

“Not with Mary around.”

“True. I never thought of that. I’ll pop down and see Mrs. Hudson.” A thought struck him, and he paused at the door. “About tonight… Well, _someone’s_ going to tell Molly about us eventually, and we both know how she feels about you. I think it would be best coming from you.”

“Do you _really?”_ Sherlock raised one eyebrow, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Yeah, maybe _not_. I’m supposed to pick up Rosie at five, so I’ll tell her then.”

“You _could_ just pop out and have your t-shirt printed.”

“I’m _never_ going to live that down, am I?”

“It’s doubtful.” Sherlock laughed softly.

\---

Molly’s House: (16 April, 5:00PM)

“She’s been an absolute angel all day.” Molly laughed, gathering the last of Rosie’s things into the bag. “So I bet you’ll have your hands full tonight.”

“I appreciate you watching her for me.” John shifted nervously, leaning against the counter top in Molly’s kitchen as Rosie crawled happily around his legs. “Molly, there’s something I need to tell you. I think… maybe you should sit down.”

“It’s not Sherlock is it?” The smile drained from her face as her eyes filled with worry. “Nothing’s happed to him, has it?”

“He’s fine, but yes, it’s about Sherlock and… and me.”

“You two haven’t had another falling out, I hope. You _know_ how he gets when you do.”

“No, it’s just…  Sherlock and me…” John sighed sadly, knowing what he was about to say would hurt her. “We’re together.”

“Well of course you’re together, you’re always… Wait, you _can’t_ mean _together_ together? As in… a couple?” Her eyes went wide with shock, and she reached back, finding the dinette chair and slowly sitting down.

“Yes.”

“What happened to not being _gay,_ John?” She tried to keep the bitterness out of her tone, but it seeped through despite her efforts.

“I’m sorry, Molly. I know how you feel about him, and I don’t want to hurt you, but I… We’re in love.”

“H-how long? How long have the two of you been… together.” She blinked back the tears as the last tiny piece of unacknowledged hope in her heart died.

“It’s just recently; _very_ recently.”

“So all this time, you were gay all along?”

“No. I _never_ lied to you, I swear. I can’t explain it. I don’t understand it myself. I’ve _never_ been attracted to another man, but with Sherlock… it’s different somehow. It just took me a long time to admit it to myself.”

“He’s _Sherlock_.” A brittle smile crossed her face. “What more explanation do I need? Well, I hope the two of you are _very_ happy.”

“I am sorry. I just wanted to tell you myself, before you heard it from someone else.”

“Who _else_ knows?”

“I told Mrs. Hudson this morning, and Mycroft and Greg know.”

“You told _Greg?”_

“Oh God. You haven’t heard about _them_ yet, have you?”

“Them?”

“Greg and Mycroft. They’re… also a couple.”

“Greg and Mycroft?” A small sneer of distaste crossed her face. “I mean, I know Greg’s bi, but what does he see in Mycroft?”

“His intellect, he says.” John shrugged. “I don’t get it either, but Greg seems happy.”

“I meant it, you know, about wanting you two to be happy.” She smiled bravely. “I really do love you both. You’re like family to me, and we both know Sherlock and me… that was _never_ going to happen.”

“Thank you. Are you okay? I know this must hurt, and…”

“Just _don’t_ , John.” She shook her head, tears glittering in the corners of her eyes. “Just go. I’m fine; I’ll be fine, I just… please go now.”

“Alright, Molly.” He shouldered the bag and gathered his daughter in his arms. He stopped at the doorway, looking back at her. “I really am sorry.”

“Don’t be. Don’t you _ever_ be sorry for loving him. I’ve known it was you for a long time; it’s _always_ been you.”

After he left, she put her head in her hands and sobbed for a while, then quietly got up to get changed.

\---

Mycroft’s House: (16 April, early evening)

“Hey Molly, come on in.”

“Greg, is this… _Mycroft’s_ house?” When Greg had said he’d needed to consult with her about a case and he’d send a car for her, she’d dressed casually, assuming he’d send a patrol car or perhaps a taxi. She hadn’t expected the sleek black luxury sedan that had arrived, nor the gated and guarded Manor house, and now she felt underdressed. “It’s very grand, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Greg grinned at her. “Intimidating, ain’t it?”

“I feel like I should have worn my best cocktail dress.”

“Nah, you’re fine.” He led her to the kitchen. “Have a seat. You want something to drink? Some wine, maybe?”

“Yes, please. I think I could use a glass.”

“You like red, right?” She nodded, and he poured her a glass, grabbing a beer for himself.

“John told me about you and Mycroft when he came by to pick up Rosie.”

“Yeah, pretty amazin’ huh?” His grin broadened into a smile. “I don’t know what he sees in me, but I’m glad _he_ does.”

“You look happy.” She said wistfully.

“I _am_. You okay? You look kinda sad.”

“No, it’s just… he told me about Sherlock and him.” She shrugged. “I’ll be fine. We’ve both known how he feels about John for a long time. I’m happy for them, really I _am_ , it’s just… you know.”

“Yeah.” He looked at her sympathetically. “Maybe it’s for the best; for _you_ , I mean. You’re a beautiful girl, Molly, and now maybe some lucky guy will have a chance.”

“Thanks, Greg. A girl can dream, but I knew I never _really_ had a chance with him. I think I need to apologize to John. I wasn’t as supportive as I should have been. It was just the shock of it. I think they’ll be good together.”

“Me too. John’s always kept him grounded. I owe you a tenner, by the way. You were right about Janine.”

“Somehow, that makes me feel a bit better. He _is_ gay, isn’t he?”

“Not gettin’ on with Janine when he had th’ chance is a pretty compelling argument for it, but I don’t think he cares about that sorta thing except with John.” Greg shrugged and took a sip of his beer. “I’m just glad John _told_ you. He’s kinda struggling with the whole _I’m not gay_ business.”

“I’ve got to admit, I was shocked. For a minute, I had this awful thought that they were hiding it from us all these years.”

“Speaking of shocked…” Greg sighed and grabbed his briefcase off the counter. “Remember that lab report I showed you, the one where you said the sample must have been contaminated? It wasn’t.”

“What do you mean? It had to have been.”

“Molly, I know you’re gonna think I’m off my rocker, but hear me out first, and know that both Mycroft and Sherlock back me up on this. Somehow, in the last few months, magic has become real.”

“You’re having me on now!”

“I wish to God I _was_. We got a werewolf running around London, an honest-to-God vampire, ghosts… including Mary, by the way, bloody fairies running amok in Mycroft’s back garden, and God only knows what else’s out there. And we’ve got proof, of a sort.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Molly, I am dead serious, and this thing’s gettin’ outta hand. It’s all tabloid junk right now, but it’s only a matter of time before everybody knows, and when they do, there’s gonna be panic in the streets if we’re not on top of things. Mycroft’s putting a team together, and I want you on it.” He pulled out the stack of files, setting them down in front of her. The one on top had a sticky note that read “Possible werewolf”. The word possible has been crossed out and replaced with “confirmed.”

“And you really believe all this?” She picked up the file, leafing through it.

“I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Not the werewolf yet, but the vampire showed me what he can do, and it’s some seriously scary stuff. Bastard turns into mist and bats and shit.”

“Did you say _Mary’s_ a ghost?”

“Yeah, I saw her last night, right here in the kitchen. She’s different, but she’s still _her_ , if you get what I mean. Then today I went down to the morgue, and I don’t wanna scare you, but the place is crawling with ‘em. Not everybody can see them, but it seems I’m a bloody _medium_ now. The ones in the morgue are only temporary ghosts. I went by a cemetery and a couple of mortuaries and then I went _back_ to the morgue and did some checkin’ around… The new guy, what’s his name…?”

“Wilson”, she murmured, skimming the written report on the morgue ghosts. She shuddered, wondering how she’d handle going to work tomorrow, knowing these… _things_ were invisibly shambling around her.

“Yeah, Wilson. He thinks I’m a total nutter now, but we’ve worked out they stick around about three days. None of the older bodies had a matching ghost.”

“This is just…, just…” She skimmed through the various files, her eyes growing increasingly wide. “You _really_ met a vampire? All this stuff, the transformations, the mist… it’s all true?”

“I swear to God, every bloody bit of it.”

“And you want _my_ help with… this?”

“We need you, Molly. Right now, it’s just the four of us… or five, countin’ Mary. We need your expertise in the lab, but more than that, Mycroft needs people we can _trust_ on the team.”

“And Mycroft trusts me”, she said dubiously.

“Probably not, but he trusts _me_ , and I trust you. I know this is all a lot to take in, but this is happenin’, and somebody’s gotta figure out how to deal with it. Right now, that’s _us_. If this is too much for you and you wanna say no, I’ll understand, but we’re kinda trying to save the world here, and we could really use your help.”

“I don’t know what to say, Greg.” She looked with dismay at the stack of files. It was hard to believe, raising questions and implications almost too terrifying to contemplate, but these were her friends and they _needed_ her. “I’ll do what I can.”

“So, you’re in, then?”

‘I’m in. Greg, this is some really scary stuff, but if you and the boys need me, I’m not going to say no.”

\---

Mycroft’s House: (16 April, mid evening)

While everyone briefed each other on the day’s discoveries, Molly had sat quietly listening and watching the two couples interact. She’d read the reports later. Watching them calmly discuss interviewing vampires and speculating on the nature of fairies was, in its own way, terrifying. A bit overwhelmed by it all, she concentrated more on those around her than their words.

Her sorrow over Sherlock was beginning to fade, replaced with a bittersweet kind of happiness. There was something different about him now, a sort of light in his eyes that she’d never seen before. His manner hadn’t changed, but now he had a quality about him she could only describe as luminous. Her love for Sherlock remained unchanged, but she’d always loved him unconditionally. Seeing _him_ happy, she decided, was worth the pain she felt. If it wasn’t going to be _her_ , she was glad it was John that he’d chosen. John had become like family to her; almost like a brother, and even though they acted as they always had, she could see they were both happy. She almost teared up watching John as he tried not to look _too_ happy in some sweetly misguided attempt to spare her feelings, but the love in his eyes when he looked at Sherlock made his happiness obvious to her. She’d have to have a word with John and let him know they had her total support. Knowing them both as she did, she realized John would need to know he had the support of his friends far more than Sherlock would.

She’d always found Mycroft to be aloof and, despite his genteel manner, intimidating. She’d accepted his occasional presence in her life for Sherlock’s sake, but something about him had always made her skin crawl. Seeing him with Greg made him seem more human. He seemed to welcome the casually possessive manner that Greg showed towards him; the way Greg’s hand rested on Mycroft’s shoulder as he stood behind him at the table, and the look of pride in their eyes when they looked at each other, and Molly found it oddly sweet. She’d always admired Greg. Watching him handle Sherlock over the years, she decided that if anyone was qualified to deal with a man like Mycroft, it would be Greg. After a while, she noticed the subtle way Mycroft listened without interrupting when Greg spoke. Mycroft rarely seemed to treat anyone as a conversational equal, with occasional exception of Sherlock, but he was subtly different with Greg. Greg _mattered_ to Mycroft. She grinned. She might never understand his taste in men, but she had to give him credit: Greg seemed to have Mycroft well under control.

Mary’s sudden unseen presence about an hour into the meeting had been a bit unsettling at first. Mycroft had insisted on measuring her new-found ability to move things, wanting to track any increase in her strength. She’d watched the wooden croquet ball Mycroft had placed on the floor wobble, then slowly roll across the floor, and a shiver went up her spine. It wasn’t that Molly hadn’t believed the things they’d told her, but seeing it happen right in front of her eyes had suddenly made it all chillingly bizarre. It felt unreal, like she’d suddenly found herself in a horror film. She drank the remaining third of her wine without really noticing it.

John glanced over at her sympathetically. She’d had her heart broken and now she’d just seen proof that the world had suddenly become a much more frightening place. He didn’t want to do or say anything to hurt her any more than he had. As a consequence, he had no idea _what_ to do or say, so he’d settled for being quietly polite and trying not to look too happy. He nodded towards her glass, quietly asking if she’d like a refill.

“I would, thank you. If you don’t mind, I’ll go with.”

\---

Mycroft’s Kitchen: (16 April, mid evening)

“John, I want you to know I really am happy for the two of you. I do mean that.”

“Thanks, Molly. That really does mean a lot to me. You know neither of us would ever want to do anything to hurt you.” John peered into the wine cooler section of the fridge, trying to guess which of the red wines had been opened. He finally found it on the third try.

“I know.” She leaned against the counter and held her glass out. “John, I don’t want to pry, but this thing with you and Sherlock, with Mary still… with her ghost being here, isn’t that… awkward.”

“Well, yes, but not in the way that you might think. She wants you to know, by the way, that she’s really happy you’re in Rosie’s life, and she really appreciates it.” He chose his words carefully, not quite sure if Molly was ready to hear that Mary popped into her house when she was babysitting.

“I’m glad. I really love my time with Rosie. She’s getting so clever.” Molly smiled fondly, then peered at John curiously. “And Mary, she’s okay with you and Sherlock then?”

“She’s the one that _made_ me see how I really felt. I was too busy saying _I’m not gay_ to realize it.” He smiled, shaking his head. “She says she’s beyond all that now, and just wants me to be happy. She’s not beyond meddling in it though, and I’m grateful to her for it.”

“That sounds like Mary. I wish I could see her too, but I’m _glad_ I’m not a medium. I don’t think I could do my job if I could see what Greg does.” A small worry frown crossed her brow. “It’s probably going to make working homicides a lot harder for him.”

“Yeah.” John opened another beer and leaned against the counter beside her. “He’s a strong man, though, Greg is. I wish I had half his confidence. And if you want my opinion, I think he’s secretly a bit pleased. He’s going to be a real asset to the team with that, so you know Mycroft’s got to be pleased as well.”

“I can tell how happy he is. Sherlock, I mean.” She took a sip of wine and looked over at John, smiling. “He used to look at you, when he thought you weren’t looking, and he always looked… sad. He doesn’t look sad anymore, John. He’s got this kind of light about him now. He looks happy.”

“I didn’t know that, about him looking sad.”

“It’s just really beautiful to see, and I mean it when I say I’m happy for both of you. He needs you.” She stood up straight, bracing herself to go back to facing the supernatural. “You’re a good man; like family to me, and I’m glad you need him too.”

\--- George’s Taxi: (16 April, late evening)

“Back to Baker street by way of the Thai place, if you please.” John slid in beside Sherlock and closed the door. George was a cabbie they’d used often over the years. Sherlock had proven his innocence in a hit-and-run incident early in his career and had gained George’s unswerving loyalty as payment. His knowledge of London’s streets and traffic along with his willingness to disobey speed limits had made him invaluable. He pulled out of the driveway, glancing up in the rearview to see John slide over much closer to Sherlock than he usually did. By the time he turned the corner they were holding hands. George grinned, thinking it was about time.

“You’re working late tonight, George.”

“Yeah, the missus wants a holiday and I’m gonna surprise her on the anniversary. So, the two of you, huh?”

“Yeah, we’re together now,” said John. Sherlock flashed a bright, child-like grin, then slouched down far enough to lay his head on John’s shoulder. John stiffened for an instant and then gave way to the urge to ruffle Sherlock’s hair.

“Well, congratulations. Let’s just say the fare’s on me tonight.”

“Don’t.” Sherlock grinned again and snuggled a little closer to John. “And give yourself a good tip. _Mycroft’s_ footing the bill.”

“Thanks, in that case I will.” George smiled a little wider. The gays usually made George a little uncomfortable, but he’d always thought these two belonged together.

\---

221B Baker Street: (16 April, late evening)

“I can stay, by the way.” John grinned, hoping he’d managed to surprise Sherlock for once.

“That _is_ good news.” Sherlock graciously looked surprised for John’s sake, then swept him into his arms.

“Mrs. Hudson volunteered, when I told her we’d likely be late. Then she _winked_ at me.” He chuckled, reaching up to pull Sherlock’s head down for a kiss. Playfulness soon led to passion as they made their way to the bedroom.

They quickly undressed, each eager for the other’s touch. Kissing, caressing, and nibbling, they rolled together among the sheets. John’s cock pressed against Sherlock’s and he reached down, gathering them together in his hand.

“I didn’t really notice last night, but you’re bigger than me”, he said, slightly dismayed by the fact.

“Longer, yes, but you’re thicker.”

“Aren’t I _always?”_ John laughed, releasing his grip to roll on top of his lover.

“You are _luminous_ , John.” Sherlock pulled him down for another kiss. Since the moment they’d slid into the taxi, Sherlock had been eager for John’s touch; to feel his arms around his body and his skin against his own. He’d spent their quickly eaten dinner and the rest of the ride home filled the delicious ache of anticipation.

Last night, despite his body’s desire, Sherlock had to carefully conceal his very real terror of having sex with John. After _The Incident_ Mycroft had gone through, he’d decided that anything that could turn his annoying, always-right brother into such a massive idiot was a mistake he’d never make. His urges had been hard to suppress, and he’d finally resorted to some alarmingly harsh methods of aversion therapy to rid himself of them. Years had gone by, and then suddenly, there was John. As he’d fallen in love, desire had been reborn in him, slowly reigniting. He’d feared that the old conditioning he’d inflicted on himself would come back. He been afraid that he’d panic and hurt John, perhaps even physically. _That_ was the fear he’d so carefully hidden the night before.

He wasn’t afraid anymore. All those desires he’d locked up in the dark recesses of his mind palace came rushing out, illuminated by John.  Sherlock flipped him over playfully, kissing him hard as he pinned him to the sheets. John grinned, preparing to flip him over again, and then happily surrendered as Sherlock began a slow, agonizingly erotic journey down his body. Even in the throes of lust, Sherlock’s ordered mind had catalogued nearly every erogenous spot on John’s body, and he paid homage to each one as he made his way slowly to his lover’s very eager cock.

Last night, when it had become obvious he was about to get a blow job, John hadn’t expected much in the way of skill, but just the thought of seeing his cock in Sherlock’s mouth had nearly driven him wild. What he’d got had been astonishing, and he’d thought it was the greatest blowjob he’d ever have.

He’d been wrong. When Sherlock embraced a new skill, he honed it quickly, and this was no exception. He teased John to the point that he was writhing beneath him, mindlessly babbling Sherlock’s name and pleading. Sherlock slowly swallowed him, pinning his hips to prevent him from thrusting, until his lips were locked around the base and the crown was pressed against the back of his throat. He swallowed, muscles contracting around the head John’s cock. Slowly but steadily increasing the rhythm until John was near orgasm, he slid back up. Taking a deep breath, he engulfed him again, repeating the process until John was begging him for release.

“If you want to cum, you’re going to have to take me, John.”

John grabbed a handful of Sherlock’s thick, soft hair, gently dragging him back up for a kiss. Growling playfully, he flipped Sherlock over, still facing him, and grabbed the oil. “I want to see your eyes”, John whispered, his voice low with passion as he slicked up his cock and his fingers. It was time to make _Sherlock_ beg.

It didn’t take long. John teased him in return, fingers caressing inside him, pressing his body against his lover’s desperate cock until Sherlock was writhing and trembling beneath him, begging with need. Begging for _him_.

Eyes locked on Sherlock’s, he positioned himself and plunged inside as Sherlock wrapped his long legs around him. With each stroke, he slightly repositioned himself, seeking the angle that would give his lover the most pleasure. Sherlock’s pupils suddenly dilated even further, and he let out a long, gasping moan. John picked up the pace, occasionally slowing down to keep one or both of them from cumming. He wanted this ecstasy to go on forever.

Sherlock’s body suddenly bucked wildly as wave after wave of orgasmic sensations shot through his body. Balancing himself, John reached out to grab Sherlock’s cock with slick fingers. With just the barest touch, Sherlock came, splashing across John’s belly with a frenzied cry. He looked like an angel in the throes of ecstasy, and his eyes shone like moonlight.

John pressed close to him, driving in deep, spending himself as he cried out Sherlock’s name. He collapsed on top of him with a kiss, then rolled over, gasping for breath and wet with sweat and Sherlock’s cum.

Sherlock scooted closer, his breath ticking in John’s ear. “This time we really _do_ have to clean up.”

“You are a _hopeless_ romantic.” John turned his head for a kiss. “You’re also right. And I love you.”

“You are a conductor of light, John. You make me glow.”

They slid into the bath together, and cleaning up turned into another bout of lovemaking, this time slower and less frenzied, but no less passionate. Finally spent, they made their way back to bed. Sherlock cuddled into John’s arms, and they quickly drifted off to sleep.’

\---

Mycroft’s bedroom: (16 April, Late evening)

Mycroft was quiet during love-making, a thing that Greg just accepted. It made the small sounds he did make, the little gasps and delicate moans, all the more precious and erotic. Their bodies were pressed tightly together, Greg nipping lightly at Mycroft’s neck as his hand slid down his back. He slipped caressing, oil-slicked fingers between his cheeks and was rewarded with his name, whispered lovingly into his ear. The longing in his tone sent tingles of desire through Greg.

When he was ready, Greg pressed into him, tenderly yet fiercely claiming him more with each stroke. Mycroft’s hands grasped the sheets, tightening and untightening as he arched himself against Greg, seeking to drive him deeper.

The sensation of having Greg’s flesh buried deep inside him ran deeper for Mycroft than physical need. When Greg was buried deep inside him, he didn’t just fill his body; he filled his psyche, as if Greg could see all the dark and anxious places he kept so carefully concealed and still _want_ him. It made him feel free, because he trusted Greg. Mycroft had never entirely trusted anyone, not his parents, not Sherlock; not even the woman from _The Incident_. The fact that he’d spied on him so much over the years had been a big part of why he’d let Greg past the walls he’d built around himself. He knew _exactly_ what kind of man Greg was, and that helped him be able to trust. Mycroft had never imagined that in surrendering his body and his trust to him, he would free his own soul.

Writhing beneath him, Mycroft watched Greg’s face transform as he came, and beauty became more than a construct in his mind. His lover was beautiful to him in ways that far surpassed any definable description. He made his heart leap.

“You are… unquantifiably… beautiful”, he said, softly panting.

Greg’s reply was a soft, low, growl that sent an almost electric tingle down Mycroft’s spine. Sliding down his lover’s body, Greg paused along the way to look up and lock eyes with him, then moved further down, until he reached Mycroft’s long, thick cock.

Pleasing his lovers was something Greg took pride in. He liked making them moan, liked the sense of power he felt when he made them cum. He knew that in those brief moments of physical ecstasy, he was the entirety of his lover’s existence, and he liked how that made him feel.

Mycroft didn’t disappoint, and Greg was half hard again long before his very expert blow-job had him whispering never-used words and clutching frantically at his hair. Greg growled, deep and almost inaudibly, and the vibration sent his lover over the edge. He reached down, finishing himself off again as Mycroft came with a suddenly loud cry.

Greg coughed softly, finding it difficult to swallow a laugh and a mouthful of cum at the same time. He’d just made the very proper Mycroft Holmes scream “OH FUCK!”. Obviously pleased with himself, he crawled back up Mycroft’s body, lowering himself down for a deep, lingering kiss. He let just enough of his weight press down on his lover to leave him almost, but not quite, breathless.

“I love you.” He bent his head, whispering into Mycroft’s ear, his voice rough and low with passion. Mycroft’s arm circled around him, holding him tight, and he nuzzled close to Greg’s neck.

“I can’t say it. I _want_ to say it, but I _can’t_.” He did want to say it; he wanted to say it so much it hurt, but the trauma of his past wouldn’t let him. “I hope you _know_.

“Mycroft, my love…” He lifted himself up enough to look Mycroft in the eyes. He cupped his face in one hand, gently forcing him to look at him. “You don’t have to say it. I’ll say the words for you.” He caressed his face tenderly, then bent to kiss him again. “I know you love me because I can feel it. That’s all I really need from you.”

\---

Mycroft’s bedroom: (16 April, late evening, twenty minutes later)

Greg good-naturedly indulged Mycroft’s fastidious nature before and after sex. There was no trail of clothing across the floor. Greg had stripped Mycroft’s clothes off in his closet, helping him hang each item in its proper place. It was already part of their ritual. He understood Mycroft’s need for the sense of stability it gave him, and it gave Greg an opportunity to gently coax his skittish lover into arousal.

There was a ritual for after as well. They changed the sheets together, then headed to the washroom. Greg cleaned Mycroft up along with himself, tenderly but firmly taking control and murmuring words of reassurance. Mycroft obviously felt vulnerable here under the bright lights and mirrors, and Greg gently led him through his insecurities about his body. He’d silently vowed that eventually, he’d teach Mycroft to see himself through his eyes, and then he’d know he was beautiful too.

It was Greg’s first night staying over. They settled in bed, spooned together. Mycroft snuggled closer, drifting off to sleep in the protection of Greg’s arms. For the first time in years, he slept soundly, without nightmares.

\---

Nowhere, underground nightclub: (17 April, 3:00 AM)

Mary’s eyes narrowed and her posture subtly changed as years of training kicked in. A familiar chill went down her spine, one she hadn’t felt since her afterlife began. She looked around, scanning her surroundings in bewilderment. She’d left Rosie safely asleep and faded back into Nothingness as she always did, only to find herself in what appeared to be a small, underground goth club. Onstage, a female singer wailed a mournful tribute to death. A glance at someone’s mobile told her it was three A.M. exactly.

She felt a flash of warmth as someone walked through her, and she stepped back. There was a presence here, a source for the sense of danger she felt. She turned, sensing something behind her back. She peered anxiously through the crowd, her sense of dread growing. Her eyes fixed on a young woman by the door. She looked much like the other girls in the bar; black denim, boots and black leather jacket, with short, spikey raven hair. If anything, she looked more conservative than most; no piercings or tattoos save for a small, Egyptian-looking mark around her right eye. Her only jewelry was a large sliver ankh, hanging around her neck from a plain black cord. She looked ordinary, but she felt… cold. She looked over at Mary, gesturing for her to follow, then turned and walked through the door.

Whatever that girl was she was _of_ the Nothingness. For the first time since her return, she contemplated the idea that her current existence could come to an abrupt end, and she’d be trapped in the Nothingness forever. Gathering her courage, she carefully made her way to the door, trying to touch as few people as possible. She ducked through it, past a couple entering the bar, and out onto the pavement. The girl was sitting on a low wall across the street, a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other.

“I’m not here to take you, so calm down. Come over here so I don’t have to shout.”

The short walk across the street was the longest walk she’d ever taken. The closer she came, the more she knew, instinctively, who this girl must be. Mary settled a couple of feet away from her on the wall. Her training kept her outward responses calm, but inside, she was nearly paralyzed with fear.

“You’re Death, aren’t you?” She asked quietly.

“Short answer, yeah, that’s me.” Somehow, Mary wasn’t surprised she sounded American.

“Long answer?”

“Like, way too long and not my job to explain. I’m here because _somebody’s_ got to do something about your ghost problem, and Destiny said you were who I should dump it on. He said something about some guy named Greg too, but I went with you because you’re technically my business, with you being dead-ish and all.” She took a long swig off her beer, then grinned at Mary. “ _You_ , I can threaten.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Look, here’s the deal.” She lit a new cigarette off the old one, flicking it across the street. It bounced a couple times and vanished. “It’s not my _job_ , policing ghosts. We’ve had the Ways happily sealed off for centuries, until one of you mortals broke the seal. So now you’ve got ghosts running around. I couldn’t care less, except _now_ one’s crossed over into _my_ territory, and taken one of _my_ clients before his time. And that’s a problem for me that’s not supposed to _be_ my fucking problem.”

“Into your territory… A ghost has killed someone?”

“Yeah, and in the old days, I’d just pop down and find whatever wizard or hero or entity that dealt with this crap and be like _hey, go deal with that shit_ , and then hey, it’d _get_ dealt with. But _now_ all I got to work with is you. And some guy named Greg.”

“How do you fight someone like me?”

“Shit. You don’t even know the _basics_ , do you?”

“Sorry. We’ve tried to do research, but there’s no way of knowing which books to trust. How long has this seal been in place?”

“Since Solomon, because you mortals kept doing shit like commanding angels and putting major demon lords in jars. How’s anybody supposed to get their _job_ done with you _people_ summoning them all the time?” She snorted. “Cutting off magic to _you_ guys was, like, an almost unanimous decision.”

“Why doesn’t whoever _made_ the seal just… fix it or replace it.”

“Because once a seal is broken, it can’t be fixed and creating the last one took a thousand years. Like _literally_. Look, I’m not here for all this. Is the mortal a medium, at least?”

“Greg? Yeah, he can see me.”

“Can he touch you… without dying of hypothermia? Like actually grab you and shit?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“Bummer, ‘cause that would be, like, so much more convenient.  Look, your best bet for now is to catch it in a jar. Listen up, because I don’t want to explain this twice.

\---


	6. Because That's What Families Do

221B Baker Street: (17 April, early AM)

John was slowly dragged from the land of dreams by a series of small sounds: the tapping of a keyboard, the soft mutterings of Sherlock’s voice, the quiet rustle of paper. He propped himself up on his elbows and peered sleepily at his lover. Sherlock was sitting up, computer perched on his lap and files stacked somewhat precariously on the nightstand.

“If you’re going to work in the middle of the night, _why_ do you have to do it here?”, John asked grumpily.

“Because you’re naked, John.” His fingers didn’t pause on the keyboard while he typed. “I like having you beside me. Naked.”

“What’s so bloody interesting, anyway?” Still grousing, he sat up and leaned towards the screen. Sherlock was chatting with someone. He blinked, focusing his eyes on the name: Lucifer Morningstar. “You’re having a chat with the Devil. On Facebook. In the middle of the night.” He skimmed the text, then glared at Sherlock accusingly. “And you’re _flirting_ with him?”

“Don’t get jealous. It’s for the case.” Sherlock grinned, sparing a reassuring glance at John before returning to the screen. “Didn’t you notice the one extraordinary thing about him in Mr. Challenger’s account?”

“…” John stared at him. “One. The _one_ thing. Like the fact he’s the bloody _Devil_ , Lucifer Morningstar, Lord of all _Hell;_ living here on Earth, going clubbing _and_ making fucking vampires?”

“Don’t be silly. Five _years_ , John! Don’t you see it?”

“I can barely see _anything_ at this time of the night.”

“From every verifiable report we have, February first of _this year_ is the date that magic awakened on Earth, but Lucifer Morningstar has been here for five _years_.”

“Couldn’t it be that he just got his powers as well, and now he’s just passing himself off as the Devil? Maybe he’s some kind of…” John shrugged. “…genii or something?”

“It’s not impossible. I can’t rule anything out yet, because we don’t have enough data.”

“But?”

“No matter _what_ kind of creature he may be, he is _either_ a con-man or he is, in fact, what he claims; a genuine devil. Rather or not he’s the King of Hell is another question, but what clues I may discover lend credence to his claim. John, when someone assumes a new identity, there’s always some point in the system where there’s a glitch. Some tiny thread of data misplaced or missing. No matter how good they are, you can’t erase one life and create another one without leaving some trace, no matter how faint. To appear suddenly with entirely authentic credentials _and_ a perfect credit score without _one_ glitch in the system is impossible. It would take _magic_ to do that.”

“So you think he’s been here doing magic all along?”

“It seems likely by some of the favors he’s apparently granted. He’s been included in acceptance speeches at the Oscars on three separate occasions, for example. Five times at the Grammys. Best-selling authors, athletes… all manner of people seem to have him to thank for their success.” His eyes sparkled with excitement as he looked over at John. “Fancy a quick trip to L.A.?”

“Sherlock, I have a daughter and a job. There’s _no such thing_ as a quick trip to L.A.”

“About that. You’ll want to resign at the clinic. Mycroft’s putting you on salary.”

“I’m _not_ quitting my job to go work for _Mycroft_.”

“And I’ve made you a list.” He reached over, plucking a sheet of paper out of stack without looking. John looked at a list of names, all female, with contact information included. “I had Mycroft run the background checks. It’s all on here, saved under Nannies.”

“And when was all _this_ arranged?”

“I did the nanny list _days_ ago. Mary’s _right_ about that. And it was _her_ idea to put you on salary.”

“And you two decided this for _me_ , when, exactly?”

“You were in the kitchen with Molly. Mary _said_ you’d be stubborn about the job thing. But _do_ be sensible, John. It’s for the good of the nation. Oh, Mycroft’s having your military rank reactivated. It may come in handy.”

“Oh, _is_ he, now?”

“I think you’ve been promoted as well. Something about clearances, I think. I wasn’t really listening.”

“Sherlock, you and I, and _Mary_ , apparently, are going to have to have a long talk, very soon, about making decisions _for_ me when I’m _not in the room.”_ Silently fuming, he glared at Sherlock’s back. Even though he knew they knew they were right, and as exciting as he found the idea of being reactivated, he was still angry. They’d all just decided it _for_ him. It would be nice, just _once_ , to decide things for _himself_ , and the idea of working for Mycroft galled him. Not spending the next ten minutes yelling about it was as close to graciously accepting the situation as he could come. He laid back, staring angrily at the ceiling.

“I _like_ being a doctor, you know”, he muttered after about ten minutes.

“Yes, and I’m sure we’ll all get some lovely injuries along the way for you to mend, but right now…”, he paused dramatically, leaning close to fix those hypnotic eyes on John. “the _world_ is your patient.”

This was said with such utter earnestness that John didn’t know rather to kiss him or to laugh. Neither was compatible with being angry, and he surrendered to the inevitable. He rolled over, determined to go back to sleep. “I hope Mycroft knows I don’t come cheap.”

Sherlock’s mouth twitched onto a smile, and he bit back several witty remarks about John cumming. He’d let him have the last word for a change. He thought John would appreciate the gesture.

John drifted off to sleep, happy to at least having gotten the last word in for a change.

\---

221B Baker Street: (17 April, morning)

He been awakened by a small weight on his chest, and by the movement of the bed as Sherlock laid beside him. He opened his eyes to the sight of his beloved daughter, laughing down at him. He glanced over at Sherlock. Watching him with Rosie had always been fun for John. Sherlock spoke to her like an adult, but treated her like a tiny, very precious, time bomb. He wasn’t, John had to admit, entirely wrong in the latter. His sweet, loving, precocious offspring was capable of monumental tantrums. Something as small as having the wrong cup could have dire consequences.

It was one of those _Life’s Perfect Moments_ for John. Waking up like this, with all of them together, made him feel like the three of them could, somehow, become a family. He greeted his daughter with a series of little kisses on her forehead, then turned to claim a kiss from Sherlock.

“Come on, sleepy-head. You’ve got _work_ to do.” Mary was leaned against the doorway, trying not to laugh at John’s reaction. He’d smiled for just an instant, then turned beet red. “Come on, Sherlock. Let’s get Rosie settled while John gets dressed.” She sauntered off, grinning to herself. They’d all looked so cute together.

“It astonishes me to note how many times Mary’s entirely right about any given subject.” Sherlock gave John a quick kiss and scooped Rosie into his arms. “You are adorable when you blush.”

\---

221 Baker Street: (17 April, mid-morning)

As John hastily downed a take-away breakfast from the café downstairs, Mary had related her meeting with Death and what she’d learned. Sherlock had been eager, pressing her for details, while John sat quietly contemplating the idea that even ghosts, in their way, were mortal. The thought that he could lose Mary all over again was almost unbearable.

“Mary, I’ll get to work on this jar of yours when I get return. I’m due to meet our werewolf soon. John, what I need _you_ to do is take that list and arrange some interviews.” Sherlock grabbed up his coat and headed towards the door. “Mary, make sure he _does_ , if you would.”

“Wait! I don’t like the idea of you going alone to meet a werewolf.”

“I hardly think he’s going transform into a wolf and eat me in the middle of a pub in broad daylight, John.” Sherlock sighed. “Besides, Mycroft sent over some silver bullets this morning. There’s an extra set for you there in the drawer. The wooden ones should arrive this afternoon.” He swept out the door, bounding eagerly down the stairs.

“Just once…” John muttered, heading into the bedroom and grabbing the list. He and Mary spent the next couple of hours sorting through resumes and arranging interviews.

\---

Marty’s Restaurant and Pub: (17 April, late morning)

“So, Mr. Donovan… How long have you been a werewolf?” Sherlock slid gracefully into the seat across from one Liam Donovan, coolly assessing him. Wearing sunglasses inside; hiding something. Late twenties. Mechanic. Sports fan. Average in nearly every way. Liberal. Practical. Currently terrified. Smart enough to choose a public place with several nearby pubs and wait until Sherlock was there to text him the exact location.

“Two months ago, during the last full moon.” He glanced about nervously, trying to decide if the detective had been followed. “I’m not _dangerous_ , Mr. Holmes, I _swear_. I haven’t done anything wrong.” He groaned unhappily. “Look, yeah, Nat’s _car_ , I _know_ , but I didn’t just _buy_ the bloody thing, I rebuilt it _myself_ , and when I found out she was havin’ it off with _Larry_ , of all people, _in_ the car, I…”

“I don’t care about the _car_ , Mr. Donovan. Mr. Challenger has vouched for your motives. _How_ did you become a werewolf?”

“It’s _her_ bloody doin’; Nat, I mean. Natalie Hamilton, my ex. We got in a fight when I found out she was cheating on me, and I kicked her and her stuff right out the door. It’s not like she’d nowhere to go, her Mum’s flat has a spare room. I told her she could take her arse over to Larry’s, and see if his _wife_ would put her up, and…”

“Mr. Donovan. Fascinating as all that may be to _some_ , please… just tell me _why_ you think she is responsible.”

“Because she’s a _witch_ , what she is. She’s into all this… I dunno, wiccan shit or voodoo… Hell, I don’t know. I just kinda put up with all her weird shit, because I didn’t believe in any of it and she’s… she’s _really_ hot.” Sherlock glared at him impatiently. “Well, the night I threw her _and_ her shit out, and she went nuts, claiming I _defiled the sanctity_ of her… I don’t know what the fuck it was; skulls and rocks and statues and shit, and _she_ was gonna put a _curse_ on the me. A few days later, I wake up and see _this_ in the mirror.” He pulled down the glasses long enough to flash a pair of remarkably bright yellow eyes at Sherlock. 

“So, colors look weird and shit, and I figure I should pop off to the clinic, but I put it off, ‘cause I’ve got _court_ that day, ‘cause of the ruckus Nat made. That _night_ , the next thing I know, I’m standing there trying to figure out how to open the bloody door with _paws_ , and all I can think of was goin’ out to run under the moon.”

“ _Describe_ your transformation, what it _looks_ and _feels_ like.”

“I can’t. Except for that _first_ time, I can sorta control the changing, but I can’t tell you _how_ it happens. It doesn’t _hurt_ , it’s just weird as fuck ‘til you get used to it. The closest I can describe it is that it’s like being melted from one shape into another. I can’t see what’s happening because I go blind and deaf when I’m between shapes. Tom says it looks kinda misty and flickery... like watching an old-time film through a fog, he said.”

“Fascinating. I gather you have two distinct forms _other_ than human. One is a large wolf, red in color, and the other is a wolf/human hybrid of remarkable size and strength. Is this correct?”

“Look, I know what you’re thinkin’, and I swear, I’m _not_ a danger to anybody. I don’t even hurt the _cats_. I just like chasin’ them. Ate a squirrel once, but it was already dead…”

“I would be _very_ much astonished if _you_ did know what I’m thinking, Mr. Donovan. As long as I don’t hear of you breaking anything other than leash laws, I have no intention of trying to have you locked up. I want to know more about your condition because I highly doubt you will remain London’s _only_ werewolf. I would hope you share my curiosity about your condition. How do you feel about being a werewolf?”

“At first, I was freaked out. I mean, that first run, under the moon… it was so _beautiful_. Then the next morning I freaked the fuck _out_. I didn’t want anybody to know, so I bought coloured contacts because my eyes are brown… or they _were_ , anyway, and just…”, he shrugged. “…went back to work. _Now_ , I dunno. I mean, I’m scared to _death_ I’ll be locked up like some lab rat. And the eyes, you know. Some stuff’s _hard_ , like wiring or watching th’ telly, ‘cause the colors are off. But then again, seein’ in the dark is fun, or knowing something’s in the bushes ‘cause I can see the heat. To tell the _truth_ , I… I kinda _like_ it. It’s the _moon;_ makes me feel… I dunno, loved or something; like it’s my Mum smiling down on me. And meetin’ Tom’s helped a _lot_. Sometimes we go for a run together, just two wolves under the moon. He _told_ me you know about _him_ , by the way. The only reason I’m here is Tom says I should trust you.”

“Yes. I feel that Mr. Challenger is going to be a great help to us, as might _you_ be. I understand your caution; _applaud_ it, even, but you have before you a _unique_ opportunity to be of great service to your country while perhaps even ensuring your _own_ security.”

“How?” Liam looked at Sherlock suspiciously.

“Mr. Donavon, the world is on the edge of that great unknown that is _magic_. For now, save those of us who have had a brush with it, that fact remains _secret_. We have, perhaps, a few _weeks_ before the general public becomes informed, and when _that_ happens, we must be prepared enough to at least _appear_ to be on top of the situation, or we will have panic and rioting on a massive scale.”

“I got a bad feeling this whole pitch ends up with me in a lab somewhere.”

“I _would_ like to get you, _and_ Mr. Challenger, into a lab so that we might do precise measurements of your abilities, but I am willing to be patient and wait until _you_ are comfortable with the idea. You have been _most_ cooperative, and it has not gone _unrewarded_. I believe you when you say you are not dangerous, and as long as you _remain_ so, you have my assurances that neither myself, the British government, nor Scotland Yard will detain you against your will.”

“Then what do you want me to do?”

“I would like you and Mr. Challenger to meet with me tonight and allow yourself to be examined by medical professionals. I will set the arrangements with him and allow _him_ to approve of the location. If he agrees, will you?”

“If Tom agrees, yeah.” He shrugged in unhappy resignation, looking at the man sitting across from him. Tom had made it clear that if Sherlock Holmes was involved, cooperation was his safest choice.

\---

221B Baker Street: (17 April, early afternoon)

After much quibbling back-and-forth, John and Mary had finally settled on three candidates and arranged to interview them. John had to admit they were all much more promising than the last few nannies he’d interviewed. They were all out of his price range, but when he’d pointed that out, Mary had, very proudly, informed him that she was paying for it. She’d negotiated a salary for herself as well.

“So, in the short time I was chatting with Molly, you and Sherlock, you two negotiated all that; the promotion, the salaries, _my_ job… with Mycroft.”

“And a signing bonus, which everybody gets. We can’t take all the credit though. That goes to Greg.”

“This was all _Greg’s_ idea?”

“Of course not. It was mine. But one _Sounds like a good idea_ from Greg goes a long way with Mycroft. Haven’t you noticed how he is with him?” She laughed. “He’s _good_ , Greg is. How he _handles_ him. He’s going to make working with Mycroft a _lot_ easier.”

“He’s made a lot of things easier.” John tried, very hard, not to fidget or blush. “Having him to talk to about me and Sherlock, I mean.”

“I know. I’m glad.”

“Mary, I… What are _we?_ I mean, it’s just so… confusing, with you and Sherlock _both_ here, and this morning, it felt… okay, yes, I was embarrassed.”

“I asked Sherlock how he felt about me just popping in uninvited and you know what he said? He said I didn’t need to be invited because I was family. He said I was _his_ family.” John nodded, too moved to trust himself to speak. “John, I know it’s awkward, but maybe we’re just a new _kind_ of family.”

“When I get past the part where I’m embarrassed half to death, it was nice; me with the two of you, and Rosie. When you started talking about literally meeting Death, it scared the hell out of me. I never even considered I could lose you _again_. Sherlock’s right. _Whatever_ we are, the four of us, we’re a _family_. Rosie and you and Sherlock; you’re _my_ family.”

“There’s something I found out about myself last night that I haven’t told Sherlock yet. John, I know you’re in a new relationship, and it would be understandable if having the wife’s ghost hanging about would be a problem. I wanted to make sure that both of you felt that I… that I’m not a problem because I’m _part_ of your relationship. That I belong _with_ you.”

“You _do_ , Mary. I promise. What didn’t you tell me?”

“There’s a lot of different kinds of ghosts, John. I’m _linked_. It means that there’s some physical matter that I’m linked to in a way that literally binds me to the world. My time as a ghost is entirely dependent on that link. Once the link is gone, so am I.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell us that? We need to make sure this link, whatever it is, is secure…”

“John, it’s _you_. It’s usually a place or an object, but in some rare cases, it’s a person. In my case, it’s you.”

“Dear God.” He sat down, quietly thinking for a bit as he processed the idea. “I’ll have to be careful. Now I’ve _you_ to worry about too, if something happens to me.”

“Personally, I’m glad. I don’t like the idea of being in a world without _you_ anyway. There was some other bit, about us being entangled and her promising to _sort us out properly_ when _you_ die, but I didn’t really understand that bit.”

“In the space of two days, I’ve gone from accepting the fact that ghosts can exist to… waking up in the middle of the night to find Sherlock chatting up the King of Hell while my wife’s out getting work assignments from the actual personification of Death. And here I sit, trying to hire a nanny.” His mobile beeped from where he’d left it in the kitchen. It beeped again as he reached for it.

 _“And_ you’ve admitted you’re _gay for Sherlock_. I wish I could _wear_ things. I’d get one too, the _t-shirt…”_

“Out of _all_ the things I wish I could unsay in my life, I think that may be at the top of the list.” He grabbed it and found a short, terse message from Sherlock: _Come. Crime scene._ The second message was a map link to a hotel. “God, that’s just _like_ him, not to think that I’ve got Rosie and…”

A knock at the door interrupted him. He exchanged a quick glance with Mary and went to find Mrs. Hudson at the door. Sherlock had called her and asked her to look after Rosie. The mobile beeped again. Sherlock: _Bring Mary._

\---

Travel Lodge: (17 April, afternoon)

“Hypothermia”, Greg said to John and Mary by way of greeting. The only other official personnel there was Molly, who was kneeling by the bed, examining the body.

“There’s frostbite on his extremities. John have a look.” She handed him a pair of gloves. “I can’t even place a time of death accurately. He has all the signs of freezing to death without ever actually having been frozen.”

“We know it was after midnight when it happened. He was seen leavin’ the pub down the street, on foot and highly intoxicated. I’ve got some people interviewing witnesses, but from what we got so far, he was alone.”

“No, he wasn’t.” Sherlock’s eyes were bright with the excitement of the chase. “He had a ghost with him.”

“Yeah, well he doesn’t have one now. He’s fresh, he should have one of those _things;_ no offense Mary, but he doesn’t.”

“That’s how we know, without question, that this man was killed by a ghost.” Sherlock looked at Greg, patient for once. Greg would need to understand as much as he could about the nature of ghosts.

“Because the other ghost… What, ate it or something?”

“Those things that men call souls do exist, despite what I have long believed. Mary is proof of that. I believe those things that you see around the recently deceased aren’t ghosts in the same sense as our killer is. They’re more like remnants of the soul that haven’t dissipated yet. It seems that in draining his life, the killer has also absorbed some part of the victim’s soul.”

“Christ. As if murders couldn’t get any _worse_ …” Greg muttered. “How are we gonna track this thing down?”

“I’ll need a list of recent deaths in the area. From what little we have to go on, I suspect most ghosts don’t tend to roam too far from the familiar. Since the victim’s from out of town, the killer probably didn’t know him. It was a murder of convenience.”

“Convenience?” Mary asked.

“Think! This took _time_ ; possibly hours. If it would take that long, what type of victim would _you_ choose?”

“An _unconscious_ one. Oh, they _are_ clever. Go to a bar and find someone drunk enough. Follow them home and once they pass out, our killer has all the time they need.”

“How big an area are we talkin’ about here?” Greg tried to contain his frustration. Even if they could catch the thing as Sherlock had said, finding it was going to be a nightmare. There were none of the usual clues to follow; no description or prints, no physical sign that anyone had been there except the victim.

“We’ll begin with the immediate area and expand from there, if necessary.” Sherlock pulled out his mobile, looking for any information that might point towards a ghost in the area. He swept out of the door without a word, barely looking up from his mobile. He’d learned all he could from the scene, and he had things to do.

\---

221B Baker Street: (17 April: late afternoon)

He’d just settled Rosie in his old room when the doorbell rang. Leaving Mary to watch over her, he opened the door to see Bill Wiggins with an armload of packages.

“Sherlock _said_ I was to come.” Bill looked at him warily. He didn’t dislike John, but he’d never quite forgiven him for spraining his arm.

“Come on in, Bill. Here, let me take some of those. What _is_ all this?”, he asked as they headed up the stairs to the flat.

“We’re makin’ a magic jar to catch ghosts in.” John stared at Bill, who shifted nervously. “He said you _knew_ about it.”

“I _do_ , I just… _Ghost jars_. He says _magic ghost jars_ , and _you_ just act like you’ve brought over sandwich makings…”

“I can _see_ ghosts. Sherlock say that makes me _useful._ You can’t _hit_ me. I’m a necessary part of the investigation.” Bill sat on the sofa and glanced up John. “Speaking of sandwiches, I’m _starving_. He said you were to order one up for me on his tab.”

“Yeah, I’m a bit peckish myself.”

A few minutes later, John ran down to grab their take-away, and the two sat eating in silence. After about five minutes, Bill looked speculatively at John. “So, you an’ Sherlock are a _couple_ now.”

“He _told_ you?”

“I _deduced_ what you just _confirmed_.”

“Oh.” John frowned, annoyed with himself because he’d forgotten Bill could do that sort of thing. “Out of curiosity, what gave it away?”

“You’ve used his _bath soap_. Plus, I overheard him talking to his brother the other day, complaining about you being _distracted_. I pointed out to him that you weren’t the _only_ one who was distracted and told him to buy some _lube_. I just saw him, and he’s not distracted _now_ , so add the _soap_ to that and I _deduce_ you two are shagging.”

“…” John took a deep breath and silently counted to three in his head. “We are in a relationship, yes.” He braced himself, waiting for the smugness to begin. Instead, he ended up watching Bill devour a side of pasta along with his second sandwich. Bill glanced up and smiled towards the stairs.

“Oh, hey Mary”, he casually remarked between mouthfuls of sandwich. “Sherlock says the package on top’s for you. The blue one.” Bill nodded towards the piles of bags and boxes he’d set by Sherlock’s chair.

“Hi, Bill. Rosie’s finally asleep”, she said, glancing at John. She looked curiously at Bill as John stepped over to pick the box off the pile. Long and thin, it bore the name and logo of a prominent jeweler. The card attached said, simply: _Mary_.

John opened it for her, displaying the contents. Inside was a beautiful jade necklace with a card that read: _Try me on. SH._ Mary exchanged curious glances with John and slowly reached out. She could feel the beads against her fingertips; the texture of the smooth, rounded stones against her skin. Marveling at the sensation, she ran her hand under it, slowly lifting it from the box and placing it around her neck.

“But… how?”

“Must be _jade_.” Having devoured every edible item from his order, and, John suspected, a bit of his as well, Bill was now staring at the plans Sherlock had left pinned to the wall. John had been there when they’d been drawn up, and he _still_ didn’t quite understand them. From what he’d been able to work out, the basic principle was that they were going to tase the ghost and it would somehow end up in the jar. He and Mary walked over to study the plans, peering over Bill’s shoulder.

“Jade?”

“For the _tasers_. We’re supposed to put jade on the end of the tasers. That must be what catches it. Otherwise the wires would just fall out.”

“Can _you_ build this thing?”

“Dead easy, innit? Just set the taser up so the feedback that comes back down the wires goes into the lightbulb in the jar. If it breaks, you know you’ve got yur ghost.”

“Well then.” John shrugged. “Tell me what to do, and let’s get on with it.”

\---

221B Baker Street: (17 April, early evening)

Sherlock bounced into the flat and flung himself into his chair, peering at the half-finished contraption Bill was building.

“We talked about this”, Mary half whispered to him, gesturing at John.

“Right.” Sherlock hopped up and gave John a quick kiss. “Hello, John.” He sat back down, thought for a second, and then turned to Mary. “And Hello, Mary. Do you like your gift?”

“It’s beautiful. Thank you, Sherlock; I love it.”

“I wonder… If someone can’t see _you_ , can they see the _necklace?_ John, call Mrs. Hudson up.” He reached out, lifting the necklace then letting it go, while Mary fussed at him to be careful.

“We are _not_ telling Mrs. Hudson what’s happening by using her for an experiment.” John glared at him, then at Mary.

“Well, he’s no fun, then.” Sherlock glanced mischievously at Mary.

“He is a _bit_ , sometimes.”

“I concede your point. There is _that_.”

“Oh, dear Lord”, John growled at the two of them, torn between irritation and amusement. They were still ganging up on him, a thing he’d always found both annoying and sweet.

“How much longer until it’s finished?” Sherlock turned his attention back to Bill.

“Two more hours.” He glanced pointedly at John. “Three, if _he_ keeps helping.”

“I freely admit that mechanics, or mad science, or _whatever_ it is you’re doing, isn’t my field.” John shrugged. “I did get the mirror cut and attached to the bottom of the jar, at least”, he muttered, defending his efforts.

“That reminds me. I have another theory to test out. There should have been two mirrors.”

“Here.” John handed him a small, antique hand-mirror that had been among the packages. Sherlock held it up in front of Mary, and she gasped.

“I can see myself! How is that possible?”

“Unlike modern mirrors, that one is backed with silver. Get your coat, John. We have things to do.”

“I can’t. I’m not going to just leave Rosie with Bill, even if Mary stays. No offense, Bill.”

“None taken.” Bill didn’t bother to look over from his work.

“I’ve had a little chat with Mrs. Hudson. I didn’t tell her the nature of the emergency, but I made it clear that the safety of all England depends on the case _we_ are working on. She’s agreed to put her no doubt busy social life on hold for the good of the nation. But only until next week, so I hope you’re picked a nanny.”

“I have three interviews tomorrow.” John headed upstairs to gather Rosie and her things. He paused on the stairs, listening to the Sherlock and Mary discuss the candidates he’d chosen. A smile slowly spread across his face. He stepped in, shouldering the bag and gathering his daughter in his arms.

“Come on, Rosie my love. Let’s go tell your family good night, shall we?”

\---

Mycroft’s House: (17 April, late evening)

Sherlock had arranged for John and Molly to examine Thomas and Liam at the blood clinic Challenger owned. Even knowing what to expect hadn’t properly prepared them for the reality of watching the form of a man shimmer and become that of a wolf. Between the equipment there and what Molly had brought, they managed a good set of readings, measurements and samples.

Molly was glad it was over. She’d worked hard to mask her fear behind professionalism and was very grateful for the glass of wine Greg had handed her when she’d arrived at the house. Once she’d become used to him, Liam hadn’t been so bad. When he’d taken his hybrid form, he’d looked like a massive, bipedal wolf. Slightly hunched as he stood there, he was just under two meters tall. He was covered in the same thick red fur he’d had as a wolf, but his body was much more heavily muscled. His arms were slightly longer in proportion than a human’s, and a set of impressive claws tipped his paw-like hands. Molly had nearly fainted. Then he’d looked at her with his expressive golden eyes, ears drooping, and slunk into a low crouch so as to not loom over her, tucking his tail between his legs. He looked embarrassed, and she was suddenly reminded of her childhood dog when he’d been caught in the bins.

By the time she left the clinic, her fear of Liam had completely disappeared. Despite the sheer intimating size of his hybrid form, he just didn’t seem threatening to her. Other than being a bit talkative, he just seemed like a decent, regular sort of guy, and when he talked about the moon, it sounded like poetry. He was obviously a bit afraid of them, especially of Sherlock, glancing often at Thomas for reassurance. By the time they parted, she’d decided that she quite liked Liam. He’d make a good addition to their team, and she hoped Mycroft recruited him.

Thomas Challenger had been handsome, polite and extraordinarily cooperative. Despite all this, he still frightened her. Naturally empathic, she was used to getting a feeling about people, but Thomas just seemed… predatory, even compared to Liam. It wasn’t in anything he’d said or done. There was just was something in his eyes and his smile that reminded her she was in the room with something undead. She shivered, taking another sip of her wine and turning her mind to the matter at hand.

Sherlock had taken it on himself to brief Mycroft on their findings, obviously eager to get it all over with so he could get on with his ghost hunt. He spoke quickly, skipping any details that Mycroft would consider either obvious or more suited to a written report. She looked at John and Greg and shrugged, nearly unable to follow Sherlock’s narrative despite the fact she’d been there.

“It’s decided then. Molly will process the samples, Greg will join you, and I will get on with setting things up. You have your assignments”, said Mycroft.

Molly thought about the number of samples waiting for her with dismay. The thought of being at the morgue alone in the middle of the night had never bothered her before, but knowing it was filled with unseen spirits gave her the shivers. She glanced over at the bright green necklace that seemed to be floating in mid-air. Once she’d got over the initial shock of ghosts in general, Mary didn’t frighten her, but Greg’s report on the ones in the lab sounded terrifying, despite their apparent harmlessness.

Greg glanced over at Molly, who he thought looked a bit nervous, and then stared pointedly at John. “John, as it’s likely that Mary is the _only_ ghost you can see, it may be better if you help Molly in the lab.”

“I guess so.” John sighed unhappily, knowing Greg was right. He hated to miss out on the action, but being unable to see the ghost would make him more of a liability than a help, and she did have a lot of lab work to do. He glanced over at Molly, who looked hopefully at him with her big brown eyes. “Sure. I’ll be glad to help.”

\---

Jenson Residence: (18 April, early AM)

“Myrtle Jenson, widow, age 78. Died sometime last week of a stroke. Body wasn’t found until a couple of days later when a neighbor noticed she hadn’t been gettin’ her mail. There’s three others on th’ list, so why _this_ one?”

“Balance of probability. _Dogs_ , Greg. There’ve been two noise complaints in the neighborhood in the last few days, but _none_ in the previous six weeks. And there’s the husband, of course.”

“He’s been _dead_ for six years. What’s _he_ got to do with it?”

“ _Really_ , Greg.” Sherlock snorted, glaring at him somewhat contemptuously. “ _Motive_. Didn’t you check the records? He had several run-ins with the law for domestic abuse, all _alcohol_ -related, died of liver failure and was a regular at the pub in which our victim was last seen.”

“Well, then, let’s hope this contraption works.” Greg looked dubiously at the device, a taser with a jar duct-taped to it. “We only get one shot at this, so Mary, I’m going to need your help to get her into place.”

“Right. Here, keep this for me, Sherlock.” Mary handed him her necklace. “I don’t want her grabbing it.”

He slipped it in his pocket as he knelt by the door, quickly picking the lock. The three slipped into the darkened living-room. They’d barely got through the door when they heard a high-pitched scream.

“Get out of my house!” At the top of the stairs stood an elderly lady dressed in a shabby robe, her face filled with rage.

“Transparent. Interesting.”

“She looks solid to me.” Mary’s eyes scanned the room. “We need to get her closer.”

“She’s bloody _glowing_. You two see don’t _see_ that?” Improvising, Greg pulled out his I.D. and called up to her. “Scotland yard, Ma’am. Can you come down, so we can have a word?”

“I _know_ who you are!” She rushed down the stairs towards them, far faster than a lady of her years should have been able to manage. “You’re trying to take _my things_ again!”

“Shit! She’s fast!” Greg exclaimed, bringing up the taser as Mary grappled with her. She grabbed her from behind, struggling to hold her.

“Hurry, Greg! She’s too strong; I can’t hold her long!” Shrugging Mary off, the old woman rushed towards Sherlock, still shrieking in anger. Mary lunged, kicking her off balance as Greg stepped forward, firing the taser. The wires shot out, bits of jade catching in her chest as the room cracked with electricity. With one final wail, she vanished. Suddenly illuminated, the three watched the bulb in the jar flicker and then grow brighter, until it shattered, leaving them in semi-darkness again. Greg gritted his teeth, struggling not to drop the jar as a shock of electricity went through him.

“Fuck! Next time, I’ll want gloves.”

“Did we do it, then?” Mary glanced at Sherlock. “Is she in there?”

“Should be.”

“Yeah, Ghost busted. She’s _in_ there, alright. You two can’t hear that?” Greg looked at them incredulously. “She’s carryin’ on like two cats on a fence.”

“Not a peep.” Mary shrugged. “I wonder how she got in and out of the house?”

“Mrs. Jenson is a different kind of ghost than you. She’s capable of moving objects. Look.” He pointed to a small curio cabinet, and Greg shone his torch on it. Several boxes sat nearby, the name of a local charity shop printed in marker on their sides. They were empty except for wadded and torn bits of paper. “She’s unpacked them, and very recently. Interesting.” He’d knelt, examining the boxes and the area around them more closely. “Greg, you said she was glowing. Describe it.”

“Like she had some kinda blue light around her. You don’t see it, in the jar?”

“No. I have to assume your perception of ghosts is more acute than mine. I may be somewhat sensitive to their presence, but you’re the medium here.”

“Well, then you take this thing. Drivin’ me batty, all that noise.” As he handed the jar to Sherlock, a look of relief crossed Greg’s face as the ghost’s voice fell silent. “Let’s get outta here.”

\---

Greg’s car: (18 April, early AM)

“ _Remnants_. It’s what we’re calling the morgue ghosts. _Do_ try to follow along, Greg.” Sherlock sighed, a bit more melodramatically than Greg thought entirely necessary.

“Remnants”, he muttered back through clenched teeth. “Got it.”

“They have no awareness of their surroundings, can walk through solid objects and fade within three days of death. They don’t appear to drain heat from the living as other ghosts do. Also, unlike the other types of ghosts, their appearance reflects the current state of the body and they must remain nearby it. Mary is a _linked_ ghost.” He reached in his pocket, passing her necklace back to her. “You already know her abilities.”

“Yeah, but how do you know the old lady’s a _third_ kind? Maybe she’s linked, and eatin’ that guy’s remnant made her stronger?”

“Because she was able to get _out_ of the house.” He paused, glancing back at Mary and rolling his eyes.  “Unlike Mary, _she_ was able to pass through solid objects. It’s how she got in and out on those nights she set the dogs off. The boxes sat there several days before she unpacked them, _after the murder_.”

“So, she’s a third kind.” Greg glanced at him, grinning. “But I was _right_ about it making her stronger. It wasn’t until after she killed that she could move stuff. But what about the glow? Is that proof she’s different, or is it from the murder?”

“Either is possible, but I tend towards thinking it’s innate to her type of ghost. Mr. Challenger mentioned a ghost tied to his ancestral home. You should drop by and see what you can find out about it. Also, I emailed you a list of things I’d like you to try as a medium.

“And you want me to do that before or _after_ I drop by _Dracula’s castle?”_

“As you have time…” Sherlock shrugged. “You should, at _least_ , be able to call up relatives. Even _Bill_ can do that.”

“Bill?”

“Wiggins.”

“Bill Wiggins? The _junkie?”_

“And medium. He’s called up any number of dead relatives for a chat.”

“So, just work a quick chat with my _Gran_ in there somewhere.” Greg growled through his teeth.

“Mary, reach up and touch Greg.”

“What? Why?”

“You told Death you didn’t _think_ you could touch him. I’d like to make sure.”

“Greg?” He nodded his assent, and she reached out. “Be careful driving, though. You’ll feel a chill.” She extended her hand, quickly touching the back of his neck with one fingertip. She cocked her head, looking curiously at Sherlock. “He’s not _warm_. Greg, did you feel cold?”

“Nah, it just felt a bit tingly. Maybe being a medium makes me immune.”

“Do me!”

“I don’t like doing this, Sherlock.” Seeing the victim’s corpse earlier had been a sharp reminder to Mary just how dangerous her abilities could be. Those little flashes of warmth felt _too_ good, temptingly so.

“I’m testing a theory. _Do me!”_ Sherlock turned, grinning impishly like a demanding child. She flicked him lightly in the forehead and felt the familiar flash of warmth. “Now hand me the beads and try it.” He slipped them on, and she tried to flick him again, but this time her finger bounced off what felt like a smooth, solid surface about an inch from his skin. He handed them back to her with a triumphant flourish.

“That’s incredible. I couldn’t even touch him, Greg! Sherlock, you’ve invented ghost armor.”

“Be sure to brief Mycroft about this. Make sure he understands the jade must be perfect. One crack or imperfection and it’s useless.”

“Gotcha. Perfect.” Greg grinned happily. He knew Mycroft would expect to be briefed first, but he was looking forward to the _de-briefing_ part of the evening.

\---

Molly’s Lab: (18 April, early AM)

“They’ll be pleased, I think, with our results.” Hours of work had revealed a lot of interesting things, including possible ways of fighting a vampire or werewolf should the need ever arise. Molly clicked send with a sense of pride, then got up to help John finish cleaning up the lab.

“They’d better be.” John chuckled ruefully. “We’re the ones doing the hard work while Mycroft sits at home and the rest of them are out having fun.”

“I think it’s _my_ fault you had to do all this.”

“How is it _your_ fault? It was _Greg’s_ idea, and anyway… I don’t mind. There was way too much to do for one person.”

“Greg knows I’m scared to come down here now. I know they can’t touch me, but just _knowing_ those things are here… I’m terrified, and you’re all so brave. I know I’m being silly.”

“It’s not silly. It’s a normal reaction from a normal human being. I’m scared too, and I’ve had longer to get used to ghosts being around. Sherlock and Mycroft _aren’t_ normal; you know you can’t judge yourself by them.”

“Greg’s normal, and he doesn’t seem scared.”

“He’s dating _Mycroft_. Can you think of _anything_ scarier than dating Mycroft?”

“You do have a point.” She laughed softly, for a moment forgetting her fear. John watched it reappear in her eyes.

You don’t _have_ to do this, you know. Mycroft could find someone else.”

“I know, but… I _do_ have to do this, because you need me. Not just _you_ , all of you; Sherlock, Greg… and Mary, you’re my _family_. And Rosie. I’m doing this for _her_ , John. If she’s going to grow up in a world with vampires and magic and… murderous garden fairies, I’m going to do everything I can to help keep her safe.”

John pulled her into his arms and hugged her tight, giving her a brotherly kiss on the forehead. “And we will _all_ do everything we can to keep _you_ safe, because that’s what families do.” She cried on his shoulder for a while, then pushed him away. Wiping her eyes, she looked up and grinned.

“Besides, I already took the signing bonus.”

\---

Mycroft’s House: (18 April, 3:57AM)

“You’re tired.” Greg hung up the waistcoat in its proper place, making sure to space the hanger evenly between its neighbors. Most people might have been annoyed by his fastidiousness, but Greg took each little ritual as a challenge. Mycroft’s clothing was his armor and stripping it from him was part of getting past the walls his lover put up against the world.

“I’ll be fine.” He paused, trying to stand up a little straighter as he unbuttoned his shirt.

“That’s not what I said.” Greg stepped close to him, taking over the job of unbuttoning. “It’s _okay_ to be tired.”

“I asked you to stay, Greg.” Greg had bent down on one knee, untying Mycroft’s shoes. “You don’t have to do that. You’re not my _valet_.”

“If you don’t like me doing it, I’ll stop, but I _like_ doing it.” Greg patiently set the shoes in their proper place and stood, pulling Mycroft into his arms. He could feel the tension in his lover’s body. “It’s just what we do before we go to bed.”

“I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“I get to go to sleep tonight with _you_ in my arms and wake up with you still there in the mornin’. How could I be disappointed?” He leaned in, capturing his lips for a lingering kiss. “I love you. Now go get in bed.” His hands slid across the muscles of Mycroft’s lower back, gently kneading the muscles. He grinned, feeling his lover melt under his touch. “You’re getting a massage.”

Greg straddled Mycroft on the bed, his firm but gentle hands massaging the tension from his back. He wondered if the others had any idea of how many burdens the man who lay beneath his fingertips really carried. Mycroft had almost drifted off to sleep when his eyes popped open.

“Greg, that thing you said you’d do for me; the thing I can’t say…”

Greg leaned down, kissing Mycroft’s ear and whispering in his soft growl. “I love you too, Mycroft.”

\---

221B Baker Street: (18 April, early AM)

“You’ve been hugging Molly.” Sherlock greeted him with a kiss and a sniff as he came in the door. John sighed. It had been a long day, and Sherlock had that slightly manic look he got when he was on the trail of a case.

“She’s half scared to death. And don’t tell me _you’re_ jealous when you’re the one who was chatting up _Satan_ last night.” John hung up his coat and headed to the kitchen.

“It’s for the case, John! Speaking of which, I think we really _do_ need to go to L.A.”

“I’d think with the ghost hunting and vampires running about, you’d have to enough _here_ to…” He turned the corner to see Bill, standing in front of the fridge staring at it as if something edible would appear. “…keep you busy. Why is he still here?”

“He’s staying the night. I told him he could use your room.”

“No.” John crossed his arms, looking defiantly at Sherlock. “Right _here_ , right _now_ , I am drawing a line.”

“ _No?_ It’s not as if _you’re_ using it…”

“If you two are going to have a _domestic_ , I’ll just go.” Bill tucked the small wedge of cheese he’d found in his pocket, eying John uneasily.

“Shut up, Bill. It’s not about you. Sherlock, _whose_ room is that?” John pointed towards the stairs for emphasis.

“Well, technically it belongs to Mrs. Hudson…”

“ _Whose_. _Room_. _Is_. _That?”_

“Yours?” Sherlock cocked his head, puzzled by John’s reaction.

“And since it’s _my_ room, who should you ask _before_ you invite someone to stay in it?”

“I know you _want_ me to say _you_ …”

“Sherlock, you, _and_ Mary, are _both_ going to have to start treating me like an equal, _adult_ member of this family who is allowed to decide things _for_ _himself_.”

“John, can I stay in yur room tonight?”

“Yes, Bill, you can stay in my room.” He turned back to Sherlock as Bill slunk past him and skittered up the stairs. “See how _easy_ that was? It’s called _asking_.”

“I still don’t see the _point_. You don’t _need_ your bed. We’ve got a perfectly good bed in our room.”

“The point is that I… _Our_ room?” He sighed. On one hand, Sherlock had apparently decided John’s room was now the spare room. On the other hand, he’d called his own room _our room._ It had a nice sound to it, _our_ room.

“Yes, well, I’ll still need all the closet space. _Will_ you come to L.A. with me, _please_ , John?” I did do that right, didn’t I? The asking bit?” His expression reminded John of a puppy who’d just learned a new trick and now wanted approval. John couldn’t help finding it adorable despite his deep suspicion that he was being manipulated.

“What?” John groaned helplessly and sank into his chair, utterly unable to decide if he was angry or not. Since he’d noticed how insanely cute Sherlock could be, arguing with him had become a lot more difficult. He found himself wondering how much of it Sherlock did on purpose. _“Why_ are you so intent on going to L.A.?”

“I’m going to ask the Devil for a favor.”

“Oh no, you’re _not!_ What kind of favor?”

“Knowledge, John.”

“Sherlock, I _knew_ , when we got together, that you would continue to put us both in _dangerous_ situations, and I _accept_ that. And I am willing to charge _right in beside you_ against whatever creatures we may encounter; killer ghosts or evil garden fairies or _whatever_ … But, as your… your _boyfriend_ , I have to draw the line at letting you sell your _soul_ to the _Devil_.”

 _“Letting_ me…” Sherlock turned the words over in his mouth as if they were an unfamiliar foreign phrase. “John, you don’t understand how _important_ this is.”

“Enlighten me.”

“I’m not selling my soul. All I want is to talk with him. From what Mary learned from Death, magic was sealed off almost three thousand years ago. We can learn from studying werewolves or vampires, but they’re just threads on the surface of the tapestry that is magic, and surface knowledge is all we’ll gain. To understand the bigger picture, I need to talk to one of the old ones; an entity like Death or Lucifer, who’s existed all along. We have no idea how long it will take the seal to break completely, or what the consequences of that will be. Time’s not on our side here, John. If Lucifer Morningstar isn’t what he says he is, then at worst I’ve have wasted a day or two. If he is genuine, then we have a chance to learn about the underlaying structure of magic and what kind of entities we may have to deal with. Problems like vampires or werewolves are easy to solve. You proved that in the lab tonight, and we now know how we might detain or destroy one. Dealing with ancient entities like Death or Lucifer is an entirely different proposition.”

“But he’s the bloody _Devil_ , Sherlock; the father of lies. Why is it so important to talk to him when you can’t trust anything he says?” Sherlock just stared at him, one eyebrow raised. “You’re putting your deductive skills against _the_ _Devil’s_ ability to lie. You’re _literally_ challenging the Devil. On _purpose_.”

“Isn’t it _exciting?”_ His eyes glazed over slightly, and he shivered with the thrill of the challenge.

“Not the _first_ word that comes to mind, no.” John had noticed that since he and Sherlock had got together, he hadn’t wanted a drink. He’d assumed a time would come that he did. Now, he decided, was _exactly_ that time. “ _Terrifying_ comes to mind, or perhaps _monumentally_ insane.” He sat back in his chair, savoring the slow-spreading heat as he sipped his whisky. He already knew, by the look in Sherlock’s eyes, that this was an argument he probably wouldn’t win. He tried a different tactic. “What does _Mycroft_ think about you popping over to L.A. for a little chat with the King of Hell?”

“It’s the next logical step, John.” He rolled his eyes, flopping down in his chair. John’s ability to argue against the obvious never ceased to amaze, and as now, irritate him. Sherlock wished he’d just give in, so they could go to bed. “Mycroft agrees it’s worth the time it’ll take.”

“The _time_. You and Mycroft are worried about how much _time_ talking to the Devil will take from your _schedule_.” He stared at Sherlock incredulously. He loved him, but sometimes it felt like he was dealing with an entirely different species.

“John…” Sherlock stepped over and slithered into John’s lap, looking up sensuously through his dark lashes. “I have to do this. You do have a point about including you in decisions, and I’ll _try_ to do better there, but _this_ is for a case. Decisions about _the_ _work_ aren’t up for discussion. You _know_ that about me. The work comes first; I can’t _help_ that. It’s who I am.”

“I do know”, said John, sadly resigning himself to the inevitable. Sherlock defined himself by his work, often at his own expense, and John understood from the very beginning that the work would _always_ come first. He accepted it, but it didn’t make him any happier about it. “So, I’m going _with_ you. _Somebody_ has to keep you out of trouble.”

“So, we can go to bed now, then?” Sherlock leaned up to nibble that spot behind John’s ear; the one that always sent shivers through him. “I need you, John. Come keep me out of trouble.”

\---


	7. Will You Swear an Oath on Your Heart?

Sherlock’s Bedroom: (18 April, early AM)

“Is you being _on_ top a rule? I know you being _the_ top is a rule, but I’ve noticed you’re always _on_ top as well.”

“I just… never really thought about it.” John tossed his pants and trousers across a chair and sat down on the bed. “I guess I’m just more comfortable on the top.”

“Oh.”

“Do you _want_ to be on top?” He asked somewhat cautiously. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about the idea. It felt a bit… gay, though why it should when he’d taken Sherlock’s cock in his hand without hesitation was a mystery to him.

“I don’t know. Mary mentioned something called reverse cowgirl, and I was just wondering if that’s just a rule for _me_ , since it’s something you apparently liked before…me.”

“You’re discussing our _sex_ _life_ with Mary?”

“She _asked_. Besides, you’ve got Greg to talk to.”

“And you’ve got Mycroft.” Sherlock stared at him blankly. “Yeah, okay; you’ve got a point”, he admitted reluctantly. “But still…”

“I’m not very good at this relationship business, am I? If you don’t want me to talk to her about us, I won’t, but I… actually value her opinion quite a lot.”

“It’s okay. It’s just taking a bit to adjust, but I was thinking today that you and I, Mary and Rosie… We’re a _family_. I may be embarrassed, but I don’t mind you talking to Mary about us. In fact, I’m _glad_ you feel comfortable talking to her.” He grinned, ruffling Sherlock’s hair and giving him a quick kiss. “Even if you two _do_ gang up on me sometimes. I’m glad you feel that close to her.”

“Yeah.” He was sitting in the bed, legs drawn up, pretending to fiddle with his toenail as if he were embarrassed about his feelings. “I love her too, John,” he said softly.

“I _know_ you do.” John reached over and wrapped his arms around his lover, hugging him tightly. He slid his hand up Sherlock’s back until his fingers were entangled in his hair, pulling him into a long, increasingly fervent kiss. John was still amazed at how quickly he could go from worrying about things feeling too gay to wanting this _one_ man so badly his body and heart ached with passion. He pulled Sherlock down beside him, their legs intertwined and their hands roaming each other’s bodies. Sherlock had a relaxed, eager smile on his face and his eyes were mesmerizing. Although he couldn’t have put it into words, there was something about gazing into Sherlock’s eyes that felt like gazing into eternity. “You are so beautiful”, he murmured.

“Beauty is a…” Like his brother before him, Sherlock had that moment where, for the first time, he saw his beloved through the eyes of love. He looked at John, eyes wide with awe, running his hand alongside his face. “… _you_. _You_ are all of what beauty should be to me.”

John reached out for the oil and found it almost mysteriously appearing as Sherlock slipped it into his hand. He drizzled a bit on his fingers, awkwardly recapping the now-slippery bottle. His fingers gently caressed Sherlock’s arse, slipping between the cheeks, slowly teasing their way to… something hard. He stopped, his eyes wide and bewildered.

“Oh, _that_. I forgot.” Sherlock reached back, casually pulling something out of his arse and tossing it aside. John gaped while his mind helpfully popped up the image of a butt plug. “I read it might be useful. You know, getting me ready for _you.”_

“…” John stared for a moment, processing the idea. He wondered _when_ he’d done it, and then it occurred to him that it had been _inside_ _Sherlock_ the whole time they’d been talking in the lounge. He’d never been much for toys in the bedroom, but the thought of Sherlock, sliding that _inside_ himself, preparing for _his_ cock… John growled out what might have been _God, now_ if he’d been able to speak properly. Almost roughly, pulled his lover into position beneath him, eyes sparkling with lust as he watched himself slide deep inside.

John wrapped his arms around his lover, grasping his cock as he pulled him to his knees, taking him with long, deep strokes as his oil-slicked hand pumped Sherlock’s erection. Sherlock writhed in his arms, murmuring his name, his head thrown back against John’s shoulder. No drug could ever compare to this; to how the sheer sensation of John’s skin against his could quell the thousands of voices in his mind palace; all the data, all his thoughts, were quieted. Nothing else existed except pure sensation: The feeling of John’s body sliding against his. The taste of his skin. The sounds and sensations of John’s hands stroking his cock. The strange vulnerability he felt when John was buried was deep inside him.

Sherlock’s hips bucked against him as he came, collapsing on the bed, panting and babbling John’s name. John followed him down, fucking himself deep into his lover, claiming him for his own. He came with a sort of muffled roar, biting Sherlock’s shoulder in his frenzy.

It took some time before he was able to roll off his lover. It took a little more time for the two to regain enough control of their breath to speak.

“That was good, then?” Sherlock took another breath and summoned the energy to turn his head, so he could look at John. “What I did, with the thing?”

“Yeah.” Some prudish corner of his mind objected, but was quickly silenced by the enthusiasm his body, spent as it was, still felt about the mental picture it presented. “That was _very_ good, what you did with the thing.”

“John, I can’t quite see it. Did you give me my first hickey?” Sherlock’s energy had returned with his curiosity. He presented his shoulder for John’s inspection. There was a vivid impression of John’s teeth on his skin, already starting to bruise the pale skin.

“Christ, I’m sorry.” He leaned over, gently kissing it. “I didn’t mean to bite you that hard. I’ll try to be more careful.”

“Don’t.”

“You _like_ being bitten?”

“It’s not that. You were _in_ the moment, John. I’m always _outside_ the moment, observing it, and I’m never _in_ the moment unless I’m _with_ _you_ , like _this_. So if sometimes you bite me when you’re in the moment, then I _do_ like it, because I know _you’re_ in the moment _with_ me.”

“I…” He hesitated unable to express how he felt in words. He understood, in his way, what Sherlock meant. He’d tried to make himself into a thinking machine, but being with him let Sherlock be human for a while. He thought again of the enormous courage this all must have taken him. The idea that this brilliant, damaged, beautiful man would place that much trust in him was humbling. “I love you, Sherlock.”

“I love you, John.” Sherlock grinned, a bit proud that it was getting easier to say. Mary had told him John liked to hear it.

“Sherlock…” John rolled over on his side. In the light of Sherlock’s courage, his previous uneasiness about him being on top now seemed silly. If he was going to be with Sherlock, he’d have to buck up and come to terms with a few things. One of those, things he decided, was Sherlock’s cock. He’d had no compunction about touching it in the heat of the moment, but he’d always avoided really _looking_ at it. He’d glanced down when he’d held them pressed together in his hands, but only long enough to notice Sherlock’s was longer. It was time, he thought, to confront that fear.

Propping his head up on one hand, the other traced a slow path down Sherlock’s body. His eyes followed along, fingers soft against his cheek, tracing the sharp blade of his collarbone, tenderly caressing the scar Mary had left when she shot him. His hand slid across the firm muscles of his belly, fingers tickling the light trail of hair that led down to his cock. Closing his eyes, he took it in hand, gathered his courage and opened his eyes. They opened wider as John looked up at Sherlock in shock.

“What…  Who did this to you?” The shaft in his hand was covered by pale, crisscrossed scars running in neat rows around it. They had been too faint to feel in his oil-slick fingers during the heated frenzy of their lovemaking, and John felt his heart wrenching.

“I did it, long ago.” Sherlock looked at John, puzzled as to why he suddenly seemed on the verge of tears. “It doesn’t _hurt_ now”, he said, trying to be reassuring.

“Why? _Why_ would you do this to yourself?” Even as he asked, he knew the answer.

“Aversion therapy.” A theory crossed his mind and he glanced at John, suddenly worried. “Do you find it ugly?”

“Ugly? Sherlock, how _old_ were you when you did this to yourself?

“Eleven.”, he answered off-handedly, more concerned with his question. “With a bit of a refresher when _puberty_ kicked in. But is it _ugly_ , John? Do I still… turn you on?”

“Of course, you do! You turn me on so much… I don’t even know how to _say_ how much you turn me on. I _love_ you, and I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that loving you means learning to love your cock, since it’s part of _you_ , and then I see _this_ … It’s not ugly, Sherlock; it’s _heartbreaking_. Dear God, the _pain_ you’ve gone through… When I think of all you’re risking by _letting_ me love you; by letting _yourself_ love me, by being joined _in_ that moment with me…” John pulled Sherlock on top of him, wrapping him in his arms tightly. “I’m just glad that you love me because I feel like a complete dick for not noticing before now.”

“I did wonder, a bit, but I assumed you’d just avoid my cock entirely.” He pressed himself against John, grinding slowly. Though he didn’t realize it consciously, he very much needed the reassurance of John’s touch. “You really rather surprised me, the first time you grabbed it. I like that bit, John. When you grab it. I like that quite a lot.”

“What about when I’m inside you? Do you like that bit?” Despite his earlier tiredness and the mind-shattering orgasm he’s just had, he felt a familiar tingle as his body responded to Sherlock’s. “Do you like feeling my cock inside you, Sherlock?”

“I like that bit too. I _like_ having your cock in me. _John_.” Sherlock had noticed he seemed to like hearing his name during sex. He could feel John’s rapidly-growing erection pressing eagerly against his belly. “I think it would be a _very_ good thing if you were to take your cock and fuck me, John.”

This sounded like a very good idea indeed to John, and he eagerly pulled him up, positioning himself and his lover. Grabbing his hips, John slowly guided Sherlock down, groaning with a long, low growl of pleasure as he impaled his lover on his cock.

It was some time into things before John even realized Sherlock had managed to maneuver himself into being on the top this time. He grinned, thrusting his hips up as he stroked Sherlock’s cock. He decided that he like it. Quite a lot.

\---

Mycroft’s house: (18 April, Dawn)

For the first time in a very long time, Mycroft had awakened slowly. Generally, his eyes would pop open and all the things left undone the day before, all the things to do that day; they all came rushing in at once. This morning, all those things had been overshadowed by Greg. He woke up cradled in his arms, with the warmth of Greg’s body against his, the feeling of his breath tickling at his neck, the heat and hardness of his cock pressed against him. Mycroft breathed in his lover’s scent and wanted nothing more than to feel Greg inside him. He was still aware of his obligations, but he decided a change to his morning routine of calisthenics was in order. He had quite a different type of exercise in mind.

Greg woke, instantly delighted to find his lover initiating sex for the first time. Mycroft had looked down at his own erection with a slightly embarrassed air and asked him, quite seriously, if he’d like to take the place of his exercise routine. Greg readily agreed, grinning to bite back a laugh. They’d quickly taken care of the obligatory needs of nature and rushed eagerly back to bed. It wasn’t long before he felt his lover’s body opening, responding to his questing fingers. Mycroft arched into his touch, and Greg knew he was ready.

“If we’re gonna make _me_ your morning exercise, then you should be on the top.” He pulled him on top of him, guiding his lover down and letting him slowly impale himself on his cock. Mycroft moaned his name like a prayer, his eyes half-slit and glittering with passion. Greg kept his hands on his lover’s hips, guiding his motions until the needs of Mycroft’s body took over. He noticed his lover’s hand, hovering shyly near his own cock, not quite bold enough to touch himself. He took Mycroft’s hand, encouraging him to wrap his fingers around the shaft.

“ _Show_ me how much you want me, lover.” His hips lunged, driving him deeper as he spoke. Mycroft moaned softly, hesitantly pulling at his cock. His reluctance soon faded, and it wasn’t long before he was spilling himself across his lover’s belly while he cried out his name. He slumped against Greg, who rolled him over, finishing himself off with a few quick strokes.

“Greg, the thing, you know. I _do_ that.” Greg laid down beside him, leaning down to kiss him, long and lovingly.

“I love you too, Mycroft.”

\---

221B Baker Street: (18 April, AM)

John woke first for a change. Sherlock was wrapped around him, somewhat literally stuck to him, and it occurred to John that they really should have cleaned up after that second go last night. He looked down at his sleeping lover, reluctant to disturb him despite his bladder’s opinion otherwise. He looked peaceful, his face relaxed and his lips smiling gently. He looked… beautiful. It was in times like this that John’s skill as a writer failed him. Sherlock was simply beautiful. No other adjective could equal it in his mind. He lay there, reflecting on the night before as Sherlock lay dreaming in his arms.

The scars had been shocking, and he wondered what trauma could have driven an eleven-year old child to such extremes of self-harm. It was a sobering reminder that the man he loved had suffered deep psychological damage. He remembered Greg’s warning about minds like Sherlock’s being fragile and marveled again at how much strength it had taken him to make the first move.

The sex had been, as it always was, incredible. His mind tried, once again, to reconcile _that_ fact with the fact his lover was a _man_. He decided Greg was right. The labels didn’t matter. He loved him, and that was all that _needed_ to matter. Sherlock shifted in his sleep, murmuring John’s name and pressing his erection against his thigh. John suddenly thought of the butt plug. A flash of heat went through his body, right to his cock, and he snickered quietly. He decided to think of it as _the object_ from now on, as the words _butt plug_ had the tendency to make him giggle for reasons that were, he was sure, quite juvenile.

John teased him awake, rubbing against him and gently caressing him. His fingers traced the bite mark he’d left the night before. He still felt a bit guilty about that, but it was rivaled by a strange sense of pride that he’d marked his lover’s body as his own.

“Yes, please, John.” Sherlock murmured. “But I have to pee first.”

“Me too.” John chuckled.

They never made it back to the bed. One thing led to another, and John soon found himself in the tub, buried to the hilt inside Sherlock, pumping his seed into him as his lover cried out his name.

They were playfully drying each other off when John suddenly froze, hearing a raised voice in the lounge; Bill, angrily telling someone to sod off. He growled a bit, thinking that if Bill was talking to Mrs. Hudson, he’d kick him right down the stairs. He strained, trying to hear another voice.

“His cousin, I think, or perhaps the uncle.” Sherlock grinned at John. “Deceased, of course.”

“Oh. Yeah, I forgot he’s a medium.” As John’s anger disappeared, it occurred to him that they must have made a great deal of noise. He looked with dismay at the amount of water they’d splashed onto the floor. He eyes traveled to the single dressing gown that hung from the hook on the door, and he tried, unsuccessfully, to control his embarrassment.

“Get dressed John. We’ve got things to do.” Sherlock tossed him the dressing gown, grinning as he walked naked to the room.’

\---

221B Baker Street: (18 April, mid-morning)

Sherlock had dressed quickly and was already on one of the laptops when John stepped into the living room. He could hear Bill in the kitchen, quietly muttering something about not stealing something. John shook his head, thinking how odd it was to find himself hoping there was a ghost in the kitchen.

“Sherlock, if you _want_ a pet, can’t we just get a dog instead?”

“He has his uses right now. Have a look at this.” John rested on hand on his shoulder, leaning over to read a comment left on his blog:

_My name is Emily. I am almost nine. I need help because Mum says the man in charge said no and the men are going to cut down the oak tree in our back yard. They say its going to tear up the alley because of roots and the alley is historic because its old. But its just a lot of stupid rocks and nobody ever uses it except the guy with the motor bike down the street. Mum says it is too loud. The tree is old too. Its the best place in the world because it has fairys and they are my friends. We play every day after school. They are my only friends. They are nice and we get to have fun. The kids at school are not nice. My sister says you are a genious detective and you know a lot of people in high places. Maybe you even know the Queen. Please save the tree. I’m afraid my friends will go back to the other place and I won’t have any friends. PS My sister said not to tell you she’s in love with you but she’s being a pain so I told you. But don’t tell her I did it please._

“You think it’s genuine, then? We get these sorts of posts from kids all the time.” By the time he’d looked up, Sherlock was already texting George for a taxi-ride.

“The _other_ place.” He gave John a moment, and then sighed softly. “Fairies, according to legend, reside in some other world, sometimes accessing this one through, among other things, very old trees. It’s a detail that makes this worthy of investigation.” His lips curled in a wolfish grin. Mycroft hadn’t let him investigate the ones in his garden, a thing which had irritated Sherlock to no end. If he could discover the solution for his brother’s problem, he’d be able to be smugly satisfied in the knowledge that he’d one-upped Mycroft.

“I’ve got to get Rosie and go to the house soon. We’ve the nannies to interview this afternoon.” John frowned. He’d resisted the idea of having a full-time nanny, and even now, despite the obvious necessity, he still didn’t like the idea of leaving Rosie with a virtual stranger. He’d been dreading the interviews, and chasing down potentially murderous garden fairies sounded much more appealing. “I guess I’ll see you after that, then.”

Half way out the door, Sherlock stopped, wheeled around and stepped back over to him. He wrapped his arms around him, capturing his lips for a deep, lingering kiss that left John breathless. Sherlock sauntered out the door, tossing his scarf around his shoulder as he went.

“Like a pair of _rabbits_ , you two are. You almost made yur landlady drop the tea tray.” Bill stepped into the room, café menu in hand. “Sherlock said you’d order down for me.”

“Why don’t you just do it yourself?” John closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, mortified to think what Mrs. Hudson might have overheard.

“They don’t want my patronage.” Bill summoned what dignity he could, hoping John wouldn’t ask the details, as they involved an unfortunate accident in the loo of odious and epic proportions. He suspected they’d had to replace ceiling tiles.

“Why did they… never mind, I probably don’t want to know.” John called in an order for himself as well, glad he had time for a quick bite to eat before the interviews.

“I’m pretty sure you don’t.”

\---

Emily’s House: (18 April, late morning)

Sherlock had easily charmed his way past the mother and was now being led into the somewhat unkempt and overgrown garden by young Emily. It was dominated by a large ancient oak of a type rarely found in the city. Out-of-season mushrooms stood arranged in a circle in the tall grass, and a profusion of early blooming roses perfumed the air.

“I don’t know if they’ll come out with _you_ here, Mr. Holmes. I don’t think they like grown-ups very much.” She peered doubtfully up at him through thick glasses. “They might, though. You brought biscuits.”

“You can call me Sherlock, Emily. And I’ll even tell you a secret. I’m not really a grown-up. I’m just very tall.”

“Sherlock, can you really save the tree?”

“I hope so, but I need to see the fairies first.”

“You have to be really quiet, or they won’t come.”  He settled at the base of the tree on a carpet of leaves and soft moss while Emily laid out the biscuits. The tree’s gnarled roots were decorated with garlands of cheap, glittery beads and small, shiny trinkets, and an assortment of doll furniture and toys had been set up in front of a large hollow at its base.

“It’s okay.” Emily called softly into the hollow. “This is my new friend Sherlock. He wants to meet you, so he can save the tree. And he brought biscuits for you.”

Sherlock sat patiently waiting, eyes intently focused on the opening, senses wide open. There was a flutter of wings as the tree above him began to fill with birds. The pale sunlight took on a more golden color, and the scent of the air became sweeter. After a short while, a small humanoid figure appeared, slowly walking from darkness of the hollow. A sliver of sunlight sent a wave of iridescence across its brightly-colored body. It stopped, leaning against the cane it carried and staring up at Sherlock.

The little creature seemed to be male and had an air of great age and dignity. One wing was ragged, and his large, round black eyes were clouded by the film of age. He had an almost human face, and arms ending in long fingered hands, while his body looked more like that of a winged grasshopper.

It bore similarities to the fairies described from the lab only in that it was a small winged humanoid with insect-like characteristics. The lab fairies had been described as dark and fierce-looking, with twisted features and long fangs resembling those of a spider. Some had been equipped with poisonous stingers of varied types, while others had miniature, razor-like claws capable of stripping large swaths of skin from a man in seconds. This tiny multi-colored creature had no visible means of attack and lacked the air of menace that had been described.

After a few minutes, it raised its cane up a few inches and stamped it into the ground. Gradually, other small insectoid figures made their way cautiously from the hollow, each one different from the other. Sherlock’s keen eyes darted about, seeking to categorize them. Ranging between one to three centimeters tall, they flitted about with wings like butterflies, bees and lacewings, colors flashing in the sunlight as they anxiously hid behind Emily. They chittered at each other in what sounded like a language too high-pitched to decipher. One group split off, gathering bits of greenery and weaving them into a garland.

“That’s Grandfather Cricket”, said Emily. “I’ve named all of them. This one’s Glitterwing. She’s one of my favorites. And this one’s Rainflower, and there’s…” Sherlock tuned her out, studying the small creatures carefully.

A male landed on Sherlock’s shoulder, flexing its bright-blue butterfly wings before taking off. Sherlock sat motionless as it fluttered around him, landing for brief moments before taking off again. Moving slowly, he held out his hand. After a few quick landing and take-offs, the blue faerie landed in the palm of his hand. He stared at it, fascinated in pondering the mechanics of magical flight. Though its weight was slight in his hand, the fact that it could fly ignored all laws of aerodynamics.

The elderly faerie raised his cane in the air and the group working on the garland took flight, raising it along with them. The fairy in his hand looked into his eyes and bowed its head. Sherlock followed suit, bending his head as they settled it on his brow.

He had a sudden sensation of falling; of the darkness and cold of an immeasurable void, then he suddenly found himself sitting on the floor of a vast forest of immense and ancient oaks illuminated by a diffuse golden light. His ears popped from a change in pressure. He knew without question he was no longer in the world he knew. In front of him was a duplicate of Emily’s tree. Even her decorations and toys were copied by growths of brightly-colored fungi and sparkling moss. He stood, reaching up instinctively to touch the garland on his head.

“A word first, if you please, Sherlock.” He froze, slowly lowering his hand and turning around. He knew that voice. It was his own.

“Who are you?” He turned to see what would have looked like his reflection if his clothes had been made of the forest. Even they were copied down to the slightest details; the bright red stitching on his coat, the blue of his scarf, even the buttons of his shirt were all duplicated in leaves, bark, flowers and vines.

“ _We_ are what you reflect. _Remember_ that. It’s the most important bit.” He stepped close, leaning into Sherlock’s space until their noses were almost touching. Sherlock found himself staring into his own eyes. Unflinching, he gazed back into pupils as dark as the void. He felt something pushing against his mind. Narrowing his eyes, he pushed back, and the creature staggered backwards, laughing and shaking its head. “You’re interesting, for a human.”

“Who are you? Are you one of the old ones?”

“No Fae shares his true name. It’s _rude_ to even ask.”

“Then what name should I call you by?”

“You humans, always so busy _naming_ things… I suppose Oberon will do.”

“The King of Faerie?”

“Yes. What will you do about Emily’s oak?”

“That depends on what I learn here. Other than my on-going kidnapping, that group hasn’t harmed anyone, but other… hives of them have killed and injured people. Why should I believe this group will remain peaceful?”

“You’re forgetting the important bit.”

 _“We are what you reflect_.” Sherlock glanced back at the duplicate of Emily’s tree. “The hive reflects us; how we interact with them and the environment we create around them.”

“Yes. What will you do about Emily’s oak?” 

“Are the fairies any danger to her?”

“Fairies don’t ever harm human children, but they will try to take her, if you cut down the tree. She would live a life of honor among them until they returned her to the mortal realm for her appointment with Death. Death has no place in the realm of the Fae.”

“Then cutting the tree down doesn’t destroy them.”

“It only destroys one _Way_. The tree in your realm is only a reflection of the real tree.”

 _“Way_ … as in pathway between worlds?”

“Yes. What will you do about Emily’s oak?”

“Leave it for observation…” He gritted his teeth, fighting a sudden overwhelming compulsion to answer against his will. “I’ll recommend to Mycroft that Molly take over the study of this hive for now…” His effort to resist showed on his brow as the words were dragged from him. “If they show any dangerous inclinations, I’ll secure the child and have the tree cut down.” He glared over at Oberon, eyes narrowed. “How did you force me to do that?”

Oberon laughed, holding up three fingers.

“Three… I’m _compelled_ to answer any question you ask three times.”

“Yes. What will you do with Theodore’s Tree?” Oberon began to walk through the forest. Sherlock followed, watching in fascination as the woodland around them seemed to subtly transform. The trees became smaller and more varied, surrounded by bushes and ferns.

“I don’t know what you mean. You mentioned the realm of the Fae. How many realms are there? How are the realms structured? What’s their relationship to the mortal world?” Sherlock brushed a bit of low hanging moss out of his path. The earth began to feel softer under his feet and fog lurked in low spots and around puddles of water. The trees had vanished and when he looked behind him, the forest he’d just left was gone.

“There are realms without number on the plane of the Endless. Each realm is a Power, each Power is a Position. I am my realm. Here, I am King of the Fae. The mortal realm stands alone on its own plane, separated from the Endless by the Great Void, but connected to some realms through the Ways. Beyond that there is nothing but the Light from which none may return.”

“Death spoke as if death itself was her _job_ … her Position. She mentioned Destiny; another Position. Your Position is King of Faerie. That place you call the Great Void is what Mary calls the Nothingness, the place her ghost originates from. I suspect the Ways reflect the nature of the realm, so that in the case of the Fae realm, they would be tied to some natural element: a tree, a stone, a pool of water.” The ground had turned sandy, damply pulling at his shoes as he walked, and the fog thickened. The steady golden light of earlier had become a sickly, yellow, flickering thing, and a foul odor filled the air.

“Yes. What will you do with Theodore’s tree?” He waved his hand and the fog parted. Standing on the sandy marsh was a mockery of a tree. Twisted, tarnished metal and bits of broken glass reflected the sullen light, and leaves of charred and tattered paper hung limply from its branches. Several burnt and broken human skulls hung from the branches like fruit. Vile fluids bubbled up from its trunk, hissing as they dissipated into noxious vapors at its base, where roots of twisted, sparking wire thrust down into the cracked concrete that had replaced the sand.

“Theodore’s tree…” Sherlock started to go closer, but Oberon stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, so he satisfied himself by studying it from afar. A pattern on a bit of twisted metal resolved itself into letters: M.O.D. “The _lab_. Theodore’s tree is the lab.”

“This is of _your_ making, created when you mortals so foolishly broke the seal. Those unnatural abominations who inhabit it are no longer my children. I have no dominion over them.” Oberon’s face filled with pain and his hand clenched tighter on Sherlock’s shoulder. “This is a poison in my realm that cannot be cured while this Way to your world is open. A champion of the _mortal_ realm must be the one to destroy the Way.”

“You don’t have to ask me a third time. I’ll gladly see it’s destroyed if you’ll tell me how.”

“Trust a mortal’s word? I think not.” Oberon smiled slyly and fell silent. He turned away from the tree and Sherlock fell in step beside him. He thought back to the pattern of the questions.

“You need to _give_ a yes/no response before your questions to make the magic work.”

“Yes. What will you do with Theodore’s tree?”

“Destroy it, and gladly, if you will tell me how.” He didn’t try to resist the compulsion, content to study its effects in his mind. It was much like the pressure he’d felt when he’d met Oberon’s gaze, but stronger. Under his feet, clinging sand turned to soil and then leaves as they passed back into the forest.

“If I give you the knowledge you need, a clever human like you might use that knowledge against my children. This is the fault of _your_ people, my clever mortal. My children are innocent in this. If they be peaceful, you must swear to defend them. I don’t ask you to betray your own realm. I ask you to swear an oath on your heart to stand a shield between the _two_ realms. Ask me three questions and I’ll ask three of you. Answer each time; _Yes, I swear on my heart._   Only then I will teach you what you must do.”

“I assume that as you and your realm are one, you are _also_ poisoned while Theodore’s Tree remains intact. You need me right now far more than I need you. What are your goals and motives regarding my realm?”

“To contain its influence on my own realm, especially regarding my little ones. They are drawn to mortals and quick to find any open Way and claim it for their own. There were once many Ways between our realms and as the seal disintegrates, those Ways will reopen. I don’t care about your realm, and unlike my little ones, I’m not fond of mortals. I won’t hesitate to punish those who hurt or corrupt my children if it’s in within the domain of my Position, but I have no aspirations toward the mortal realm except to avoid it as much as possible. Will you swear an oath on your heart to stand as a shield between the two realms?”

“Yes, I swear on my heart.” Two questions left. “If I’m going to protect both worlds, I need to know a lot more about the Fae than how to destroy them. Are you willing to provide the information I need to be your shield?”

“Take this.” Leaves rustled as Oberon reached into his pocket and handed Sherlock a tiny silver box of exquisite construction. “Offer what is inside to the fairies of Emily’s tree. Whichever one chooses it will gain human speech and serve us as your guide. Will you swear an oath on your heart to stand as a shield between the two realms?”

“Yes, I swear on my heart.” One question left out of so many to choose from. “There is a man on Earth called Lucifer Morningstar, who claims to be the King of Hell. I have questions for him, but I need to know enough about him and his circumstances to know if those answers are true. What can you tell me to help achieve that goal?”

“I don’t know if the man you speak of is Lucifer or not, but rumor has it he fled his realm to dwell on Earth a little while ago. Time doesn’t have much hold on Faerie, so I don’t know when, but I heard the rumors before the seal cracked. Rebelling again, apparently. He’s far too fond of mortals for my taste, but he’s always been welcome in the Courts of the Fae.” They’d arrived back where they started from. Oberon smiled at Sherlock, placing his hand on his shoulder as they sat on the ground in front of the oak. “He is a _Great Power_ , far older than I, but if you approach him right, he might answer your questions without cost. He is a social creature, much like the Fae in his love of pleasure and indulgence. If he resists, you may ask one favor of him, but you will then owe him one in return. And while he may take some joy in the game of deception and omission, he will not deliberately lie. Will you swear an oath on your heart to stand as a shield between the two realms?”

“Yes, I swear on my heart. Now tell me how to destroy Theodore’s tree.”

\---

John’s House: (18 April, early afternoon)

“So, _rabbits_ , huh?” Mary materialized a few feet away from John as he scrambled to retrieve Rosie’s stuffed unicorn from across the room before she started fussing. “She’s getting really accurate. She almost got the vase with that one.”

“Yeah, I should probably move that. So, how was your morning with Greg? Was he able to summon you?”

“He can, but he can’t force me. We think it’s because I’m linked.” She sat on the end of the sofa, just out of Rosie’s reach, and waggled her fingers at her daughter playfully.

“What was that you said just now… something about rabbits?” A moment after he said it, his mind flashed back to Bill’s morning greeting: _Like a pair of rabbits, you two are._ “Christ”, he muttered. “You dropped by Baker street.”

“Yeah.” She tried not to grin too hard. “Greg wanted to see what Bill can do. He’s not nearly as good though. I’m not sure he’s even a medium. It’s more like he’s… haunted. He can see ghosts, but he sure can’t control them. Uck. You should meet some of those relatives of his.” She rolled her eyes to emphasize her sarcasm. “It explains a lot about Bill, I can tell you that.”

 _“Greg_ was there too, then?”

“I think we just missed you, actually.” She couldn’t help grinning. “I know you’re embarrassed, but really, John… watching Greg try not to laugh was priceless. Honestly, we both just thought the whole thing was really cute.”

“Well then.” He sank down on the sofa and looked up at Mary. “I’m trying, really hard, not to be so… damned embarrassed about it around you. It’s good, you know; me and Sherlock”, he admitted softly. “He told me talks to you about our… sex life, and I just… Embarrassed or not, I’m happy you’re there for him. He needs that.”

“I think so too. I’m glad you don’t mind us talking about it. It may sound strange, but it makes me feel _less_ awkward. And he does need me, John. He needs you _more_ , and he _should;_ that’s a _good_ thing, but he needs me too. I like knowing _both_ of you need me.” John smiled lovingly at her, and she grinned suddenly. “Besides, I’m _curious_. I’d quit asking if you wanted, but I can’t help being curious about what it’s like with the two of you. I think if it was some other woman, I’d be happy just knowing you were good together. I _know_ what you like there, but what with you being with a _man_ , and that man being _Sherlock_ , I just get really curious about what you two get up to.”

“We…” He still couldn’t keep from blushing, but his lips twitched into a grin. “He’s _literally_ trained in sword swallowing.”

“I bet _you’re_ pleased at that”, Mary chuckled. She looked at him admiringly, thinking how far he’d come in just three days.

“Mary…” John’s expression had suddenly grown serious and the lines between his brows deepened. “He’s the bravest man I’ve ever met. I mean, we _knew_ he was damaged, but I’m just starting to see the _depth_ of that damage. He’s got _scars_ , Mary. I didn’t even notice until last night. I’m still working through the whole _not gay_ thing, and I… I’d _handled_ it; his… cock, but I’d never really _looked_ at it. Last night I thought it was about time to… I don’t know, come to terms with it, and _made_ myself look, and he’s got scars. _Literal_ , physical scars. I asked him _who did this to you_ and _why_ , and he just casually said he did it to _himself_ as aversion therapy. He was _eleven_ , Mary. Eleven bloody years old…”

“My God…”

“And there I am, laying there with my heart _breaking_ , trying to wrap my mind around the level of trauma he’s dealt with, and the courage it must have taken for him to even _try_ to have sex, and you know what he asks me? He sees _I’m_ upset and he asks if I still want him.”

“What did you say? I mean, obviously, yeah, you still want him, but God, John…”

“I don’t even know. I know I did say something about me feeling like a complete _dick_ for not noticing before then. And God knows I do. I want to be better than that.”

“And you will be, but don’t be so hard on yourself. I was just thinking how proud I am of you; of how far you’ve come from the whole _I’m not gay thing_.”

“You think so, really?”

“John, you’ve only known you’re… _gay for Sherlock_ for three days. I think you’re both amazing. You’re lucky to have each other and I’m lucky to be part of you. And you, little miss Rosie…” She turned to her daughter and smiled. “…You’re lucky enough to have two daddies that love you, very much.”

Rosie looked up at her parents with big innocent eyes. She’d just started to pick up words. Some, like Mum, were to be expected, but occasionally she’d pick up some completely random word. She grinned, tossing her head back and yelling out the newest addition to her vocabulary.

“Dick!” The surprised look John and Mary exchanged turned to horror as the doorbell rang. The first of the nannies had arrived for her interview.

“Uh-oh.” When Rosie picked up some random new word, phase one was to repeat it a lot, at very high volumes.

\---


	8. A Level of Commitment

Emily’s Oak: (18 April, late morning)

After instructing Sherlock how to destroy the hive he called Theodore’s tree, Oberon had clapped him on the shoulder, wished him well, and pulled the garland from his head. There’d been that sense of falling; of the void, and then he’d found himself sitting exactly where and when he’d left from. One glance at his shoes was enough to tell him it hadn’t been an illusion.

“Time doesn’t have much hold on Faerie…”

“Sherlock?” Still naming off fairies, Emily had pulled out the small notebook she used to help her remember all their names.  “Hey, where’d your crown go?”

“Faerie Magic.” He pulled out his mobile and sent a text to Mycroft: _Urgent. Save tree._

“Now that you’ve see the fairies, are you going to save the tree?” She peered up at him hopefully.

“I already have.” He held out his mobile, showing her the text.

“Who’s Mycroft? Is he the man in charge?”

“He’s my older brother, and he’s in charge of nearly everything, including trees. Your friends are safe, Emily, but they’re _very_ special. You mustn’t tell anybody else about them. In fact, they’re so special that I’m going ask if one of them wants to come with me and be a special ambassador of fairies.” He showed her the small silver box Oberon had given him, then opened the tiny latch. He felt a small prick on his finger. Inside the box, a drop of golden liquid mixed with a drop of his blood. Oberon hadn’t mentioned that bit. Sherlock had assumed there’d be more to the bargain he’d made, and this seemed to be proof. He held it out in the palm of his hand and waited.

The hive flittered and buzzed around him in great excitement. Sherlock wasn’t surprised to see the blue-winged male who had seemed so curious earlier exit the swarm to land on his palm and kneel in front of the chest to lap up the liquid within. He then took to the air, fluttering a few inches in front of Sherlock’s nose.

“Sherlock!” The fairy’s voice was high-pitched, but clearly understandable.

“And what shall I call you?” The fairy shrugged and looked hopefully at Sherlock.

“I call him Steven.” Emily peered over at Sherlock through her thick glasses. “I know it’s not a _proper_ fairy name, but I started running out of good ones. It’s _hard_ , making up fairy names.”

“I think that’s a very fine name for a fairy, Emily.” He glanced at the fairy, who had landed on his shoulder. “We’ll call you Steven.”

Seemingly pleased with his new name, Steven curled himself behind Sherlock’s ear like some butterfly shaped Bluetooth device, nearly disappearing in the dark curls.

\---

Restaurant: (18 April, early afternoon)

It was the first time he’d invited Lady Smallwood to lunch. After she’d left him her personal number, he’d taken to calling her to meet for drinks every few weeks or so. He found her support on the council useful, and he’d tried to cultivate her as an ally without encouraging any romantic interests she might have in him. He planned his words carefully. Losing her support right now would be disastrous, but if he played this right, he might even strengthen it.

 “You’re not untouchable, Mycroft. Jason’s not going to let this go. He’s ambitious, and eventually he’s going to maneuver you into a position where you’re going to be forced to give some explanation for these expenditures. He’s convinced you’re funneling money into your own pockets.”

“I’m not the least bit concerned. That’s not what I asked you here to talk about. It’s a rather more intimate matter, and one I wanted to tell you personally.” All he had to do was delay any investigations a few weeks, possibly less. By then, magic would be public knowledge and his plan would be in place.

“You’re not… ill, are you?”

“No, it’s _nothing_ like that. Alicia, you know I value your friendship. I’ve lived a very solitary life, and our little outings have come to mean a great deal to me. I hope what I’m about to tell you doesn’t change that, but I wanted you to know I’ve… I’m seeing someone.”

“I see.” Lady Smallwood’s lips tightened, and she arched one elegant eyebrow in accusation. “You told me you didn’t _want_ a relationship. You didn’t have to lie to spare my feelings, Mycroft. I imagine she’s a good bit younger, isn’t she?”

“It’s got _nothing_ to do with age. You’re a very beautiful, remarkable woman, and I’m sure I’d be terribly attracted to you if I weren’t… gay.”

“You’re _gay?_ Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I know in this day and age it’s not a big deal, but we both know things were _very_ different when I started my career. I didn’t want any… complications.” Mycroft spoke softly, looking at her with eyes filled with regret. Lady Smallwood’s eldest brother had hung himself, and Mycroft had done enough digging into her history to have heard the rumors that he’d been gay. “After so many years, I just assumed I’d spend the rest of my life alone. I didn’t tell you I was gay because I didn’t think it mattered. I…” He leaned over, whispering his confession. “I’ve never been with a man before.”

“Never?” Her eyes widened in surprise.

“I was too afraid of scandal when I was younger, and by the time it wasn’t scandalous, I think I was just too afraid. I had my work, after all. I thought it was enough.”

“It never _is_ though, is it?” She’d been lonely since her husband’s suicide, and she thought of Mycroft, coming home to an empty house all those years. She looked at him sympathetically. “It must have been very difficult for you, all these years alone. It’s good you’ve met someone. Is it serious, the two of you?”

“Very.” A small smile curled the corner of his lips, and a very genuine joy showed in his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever really been happy until now.”

“What’s he like?”

“I’m seeing Detective Chief Inspector Greg Lestrade.”

“Isn’t he an _asset_ , Mycroft?”

“No. I’ve consulted with him about Sherlock for years, but he’s _never_ accepted any payments. He’s a man of rare moral fiber, Alicia.”

“Are the two of you… official?”

“Yes. Happily, he was rather insistent on that point.” Mycroft didn’t try to contain his smile. “It’s very recent, but things have already become quite serious.”

“I’m happy for you both.” She smiled and reached over and squeezed his arm supportively. “He’s very handsome, isn’t he?”

“Quite.”

“You do realize that Jason’s going to try to use this against you somehow?”

“There’s nothing he can do, Alicia. A couple of the more conservative members of our little group might think less of me now, but quite frankly, I don’t care. I’ve got nothing to hide, and Greg’s record is spotless.” Mycroft looked and sounded sincere, but he had, of course, a very great deal to hide.

\---

Mycroft’s Backyard: (18 April, afternoon)

“You’ve been _very_ reckless, brother mine.” Mycroft looked at Sherlock in exasperation. “You’ve made a very open-ended deal with what is essentially a foreign potentate to aid illegal aliens on British soil.” He glared at Steven, who sat perched possessively on Sherlock’s shoulder, slowly flashing his wings and hissing softly. “And you’ve brought back a _spy_.”

“As the presence of the Fae in England predates humanity itself, I hardly think they qualify as illegal immigrants. It’s really quite simple, Mycroft. There are far too many Ways between us and the Fae realm to close them all. For now, our best solution is to deal with each hive as it appears and do everything within our power to see it’s treated properly. Believe me, we want fairies living in as many of these Ways as possible. They are, within the rules I have explained, benevolent, and as they can’t stray from their mounds, their impact on human society will be minimal. They are also very territorial, and they’re quite powerful as a group, so we won’t have to worry about something far worse than fairies using the Way.”

“Such as?”

“Any number of things, all with different motivations. Gnomes, for example. Some types can be quite bloodthirsty.”

“As can fairies. You’ve _seen_ the evidence.”

“Mycroft, I _know_ you see the difference. If we’re dealing with faeries, all we have to do is see the peace is kept. Yes, that’s going to be difficult, especially at first, but fairies are a _known quality_ that’s relatively easy to deal with. Really, if people will just co-operate, all we need to do is send out a pamphlet and a gift basket of biscuits.”

“People rarely co-operate.” Mycroft sighed. He suspected Sherlock had left out some of the details of his deal with Oberon. From the understanding he was gaining of magic, something was missing from the pattern of his story. Mycroft suspected it involved some penalty on Sherlock’s part should he fail to uphold his bargain with the Faerie King. He stared unhappily at the fairy on his brother’s shoulder, thinking what a ridiculous looking creature it was. “If they can’t stray from their mound, then how is it you have _that_ on your shoulder?”

“Steven is bound to me by special dispensation from Oberon. If we need to be separated by any distance, I can make special accommodations for him or he can stay with his original hive at Emily’s tree.”

“See that you _do_. I don’t want that creature flitting about at meetings.” He glared at the fairy, not bothering to hide his distaste.

“So, you’re willing to work with vampires, ghosts and werewolves, but you draw the line at fairies. I wonder _why_ that is?” Sherlock glanced with amusement at Mycroft’s back garden, which was a formal masterpiece of immaculately clipped geometric hedges and carefully planned flower beds. It was as orderly and unnatural as nature could possibly be. If the fairies were to be happy there, he’d have to create a more natural space.

“Can’t we just… move them elsewhere?”

“What sort of example would _that_ set?” He grinned widely. “Besides, when was the last time you were even _in_ the garden?”

“That’s _not_ the point.”

“Mycroft, you can either do as I suggest and make peace with them or move. Perhaps Greg would take you in.”

“You’re enjoying this far too much.” Mycroft sighed, knowing he’d have to relent. Despite his personal reservations about the deal his brother had made with Oberon, he had to admit its benefits. Fairies were about to be one of the more common problems they’d have to face and being able to deal with them easily would be great for their public image when the time came. His face grim, he picked up the basket Sherlock had brought. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

“Not with _that_ attitude. I told you, they will be a reflection of you and their environment.”

“Perhaps _you_ should deal with them, then.”

“I’ve not going to tend your fairies for you, Mycroft. What _is_ your problem with them?”

“They’re just so disgustingly… cute”, he said accusingly. “Besides, it’s taken me years to get this garden perfect.”

“It’s taken your _garden staff_ years. You hardly ever use it. Brother dear, you’re missing the obvious, for once.”

“Which is?”

“ _Optics_. That cuteness you find so appalling will come in very handy when magic is finally public knowledge. I tend to think the general public will be a lot more accepting of the idea of cute little garden fairies than ghosts and werewolves.”

“I suppose they are somewhat useful in that regard.” He grudgingly had to admit that Sherlock did have a point. They would be good for public relations when the time came.

“Just think of them as part of your home defense system. You have a Way in your back yard, Mycroft. Without them, any number of malevolent creatures could use it. A well-tended fairy hive can stand off almost anything that would try to come through.”

“Fine. I’ll do my best to be… friendly.” Mycroft plastered on a smile. “Better?”

“Not really, no.” Sherlock glanced at Steven, who had stopped hissing but was still nervously flexing his wings. “They can sense intent. Use your mind palace. Think of Greg while you’re dealing with them.”

Mycroft closed his eyes, clearing his mind and locking away all thoughts of hostile action against the fairies. Sherlock watched the subtle details of Mycroft’s smile as it became genuine. Steven stared at Mycroft curiously for a moment, then relaxed his wings.

“Much better. Now, let’s introduce you to your fairy hive.”

\---

John’s house: (18 April, afternoon)

“John, she’s got fantastic credentials, I liked her and most importantly Rosie liked her.”

“Don’t you think she’s a little… young.”

“Oh…  I see what your problem is. You think she’s _too_ pretty.” She leaned against the doorframe, with her arms crossed in front of her and peered at John disapprovingly.

“That’s not exactly…” John sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Yes, I think she’s very pretty. That’s not the problem.”

“It’d better not be.” She looked warningly at John. “I’ve honestly got no idea what _he’d_ if you ever cheated on him, but I can guarantee it wouldn’t be good.”

“Mary, I’ve learned my lesson, I swear.” The real Mary hadn’t been nearly so forgiving about being cheated on as his hallucinatory version had been. He’d spent two very miserable days being reminded that she’d been trained in psychological torture techniques before she’d finally relented and forgiven him. If he ever heard _The Wheels on the Bus_ again, he might start screaming. “But being faithful doesn’t make me blind. I can’t help noticing her, and he’s going to notice me noticing her. _That_ is the problem.”

“Uh-huh.” She gave him one last dubious look, just in case. “Well, I think we can _all_ agree the first one was awful.”

“God, yes.” John shuddered. “I have _never_ felt so inferior in my own home.”

“I don’t think she approved of you, John.” Mary grinned at him, teasing.

“Yes, well, a lot of help _you_ were there. I’d have been fine if _you_ hadn’t been so helpful.” John’s attempt to glare at her was sabotaged by his inability to keep from snickering. He had explained away his daughter’s newest word, _Dick!,_ which she had yelled repeatedly at high volume, as being a friend’s name. Halfway through the interview, Rosie had become bored with her new word, and, as she usually did, started combining it with words she already knew. Her first combination had been particularly unfortunate. “Dick _Ball_. I can’t _believe_ you told me to say it was his last name.”

“I can’t believe you actually _said_ it!”

“I panicked.” The two laughed for a while.

“What about the middle one? Lindsey… She was okay, I guess.” Mary shrugged. “Just a little…”

“Unmemorable. Leslie.” The looked at each other, shaking their heads. “She’s okay, I suppose, but she’s _just_ okay. I want _more_ than just okay for Rosie.”

“We should keep looking.”

“Ah ha! It’s not that easy; _just pick a nanny_ , is it?” He looked at Mary, feeling a little vindicated. “It’s almost like choosing a new family member. With all this magic business going on, they’re going to end up spending a lot of time with Rosie, and I want just the right person.”

“Well, we’ve got a few days…”

“I hope so. But Mrs. Hudson said next week at the latest, and Sherlock’s determined to drag us off to L.A. for a chat with the Devil. I’ll be very lucky not to be on a plane tonight. Which reminds me, I’d better grab some clothes, just in case.” John sighed, heading into the bedroom. “I tried changing his mind, but you know how he gets if he’s decided something’s needed for a case.”

“John… have you thought about moving back in at Baker street? Your old room would make such a cute nursery.”

“Where would we put a nanny? And what sort of environment is that for a toddler? Explosions, assassins, inappropriate things everywhere: weapons, chemicals, body parts… _Bill.”_

“Downstairs! Have you ever seen it? It’s bigger than it looks.”

“There’s a mold problem. Mrs. Hudson says she can’t get the damp out.”

“ _We_ can. It’s just a matter of paying to have it sealed and ventilated properly. And we can get it reinforced. Have you even _looked_ at your signing bonus yet? We can easily turn the whole downstairs into a safe room, with plenty left over to decorate. There’s two bedrooms down there. One can be a nursery and we can redo your old room as well, so you can spend more time with her. Otherwise you’ll just be wasting time, going back and forth...”

“I don’t know…”

“John, look at that bed and tell me you _want_ to sleep in there, even one night.”

“You have a very good point.” Even with Mary to keep him company, he realized he’d felt lonely in his bed. He zipped the bag of extra clothes he’d packed and tossed it across his shoulder. “It’s not even the sex. I mean, yeah, I know, there is _that_ , but just feeling him there beside me… It’s nice.”

“Does he cuddle? I bet under all that he’s a cuddler, isn’t he?”

“He’s a bit like sleeping with an octopus.” John grinned as he pulled out his mobile for a taxi back to Baker street.

“Somehow I thought he would be. You _are_ going to move in, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know. Unlike _some_ people in this relationship, I involve _all_ of us in group decisions, so I’ll have to _ask_ him if he wants us to move in.”

“You know he _does_.”

“And then there’s Mrs. Hudson… it is, after all, her property.”

“I don’t see why she’d object. It’ll add value, plus she’ll have the extra rental. And you’ll be there. You know he’s always better behaved when you’re there.”

“Like I said, let’s not make any assumptions before we talk to Sherlock.”

“Alright.” Mary grinned, heading along beside him as he gathered up Rosie and her bag. “But I bet Sherlock’s already drawn up the plans.”

“Probably.” John sighed patiently, wondering if Mary had already discussed moving in with Sherlock. At least she’d asked this time.

\---

Greg’s Car: (18 April, afternoon)

Greg had plenty of time to think during the drive to Challenger’s family home in Rotherford, and the more he did, the better he felt about this little trip to Dracula’s castle. He wondered how the others would feel when they found out the vampire was now part of the team. Greg wasn’t thrilled with it, but he understood why Mycroft had made the deal with Challenger. In the end, it had come down to money and time.

Greg was no fool. Mycroft just might save the world with this team he was putting together, but he was also maneuvering himself in to a position of power in doing so. By the time the dust settled, he’d be the director of the most powerful agency in England, if not the world. Magic was going to change the world. Mycroft had been tracking the rise of magic, preparing for that time when the world’s awareness of it made the leap from tabloid headlines to front page news. There was going to be chaos if someone wasn’t there to reassure the public that they could keep them safe, and Greg couldn’t think of a better man for the job.

To do that, they’d need to move fast, and they’d need funding. Mycroft’s ability to hide expenses in the budgets of secret projects was limited, and Challenger had very deep pockets. Between Mycroft’s connections and Challenger’s money, they’d have things up and running in no time. What he’d had wanted in return was to be second-in-command. Considering the amount of money involved, it wasn’t an unreasonable request, but Greg intended to keep a close eye on Thomas Challenger.

He pulled through the open gate and down the long, tree-lined drive to Challenger’s family home, an old stone manor house called “The Briars”. Parking the car, he headed to the door, grateful for the comforting weight of his gun in its shoulder holster. He doubted he’d need it and thought it probable that if it came down to violence, it’d be unlikely he’d be fast enough to draw and fire it, but at least the special rounds Mycroft had designed gave him a fighting chance against the vampire if the need should arise.

\---

The Briars, Rotherford, Sussex: (18 April, afternoon)

“Do come in, Inspector.” Thomas Challenger smiled and stepped back, his emerald eyes bright with excitement. “I must confess, I’ve been looking forward to your visit. I do hope your drive was a pleasant one.”

“Yeah, thanks. It’s a fine old place you’ve got here.” Greg didn’t find the intensely Victorian decor to be to his taste, but he had to admire the man’s attention to detail. “I saw the magazine article about the restoration. You’ve done a beautiful job of it.”

“Thank you, though I concede all credit to those who did the actual work. Before we get to the matter of the family ghost, I’d like to discuss the lab findings with you, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure.” Greg followed him into a large drawing room, with an enormous fireplace dominating one end. In true Victorian fashion, the room was cluttered with artwork, maps, exotic statuettes and intricately made glass display cases containing a wide range of specimens. He stopped in front of one of larger displays, a completely intact articulated skeleton of a small raptor, about half the size of a man. “Now that’s impressive.”

“A replica, I’m afraid. Most of the original was destroyed during the war. I did have the original skull, but as it’s a unique species, I donated it to the British Museum.” He gestured to a pair of comfortable-looking leather chairs. “Do have a seat. May I offer you a drink? Wine, perhaps, or I have what I remember to have been a very fine scotch, back when I drank such things…”

“Sure, wine’s fine.” He chuckled. A large, ornately framed mirror hung opposite of them, reflecting them both. “Silver. We thought you’d reflect in it. Ghosts do the same; at least some of them do.” He took the glass from his host, glancing at him curiously. “I’m curious to know why you left out some things when we had that little conversation about your abilities, Mr. Challenger.”

“Such as?”

“The mirror thing, for one. And you gotta know you’re not as immune to sunlight as you claimed.”

“I left some things out deliberately, Inspector. Originally, I did so out of caution, and I chose not to correct the report when we met at the lab because I wanted to see how good your people are. What else did you discover?”

“Silver. Do you know what it does to you?”

“Enough to know your gun is probably loaded with it.” Challenger smiled over at him, making Greg wonder if he was trying to show he wasn’t offended or reminding him how useless the gun probably was. “It will take us a while to trust each other. I accept that. It’s very sensible of Mycroft to see that you’re protected.”

“Mycroft’s a sensible kind of guy.”

“He’s your lover, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, we’re a couple. Why?”

“I’m sure he’s told you about the deal we’ve worked out regarding command structure. As second-in-command under Mycroft, I can give direct orders to anyone except you.”

“Yeah, that’s ‘cause he wants to put me in charge of directing _field ops_ , and _he_ wants the final say on that. It’s got nothin’ to do with us bein’ together.”

“True as far as field ops go, but _should_ you, for example, decide you’d prefer less responsibility and more action and drop your level to agent, I’d still have no authority to give _you_ orders. I assumed it was a personal decision, to prevent me from using you against him should some power struggle arise. Again, a very sensible precaution.” He chuckled good-naturedly. “I can strongly suggest things, but that is the limit of my power as far as you’re concerned. I have more authority over his younger brother than I do you.”

“Good luck with _that.”_   Greg grinned, deciding it was best to pretend he knew about Mycroft’s special protections and change the subject. He’d have to whole drive back to think about it. “It’s usually best to let Sherlock do his thing and try not to get in his way.”

“I’m a fan of Dr. Watson’s blog, so I’m aware of that. I hope when the rest of you come to trust me, you’ll say the same of me.”

“What is you _really_ want out of all this, Mr. Challenger?”

“The adventure of discovery. And please, call me Thomas. I know Mycroft is intent on structuring this group very formally, but I really don’t care much about the organizational side of things. However he wants to structure things, I’m sure it’s agreeable with me. I’d be content acting as a field agent; it is, in fact, my goal to do as much field research as possible. I just want to guarantee some measure of authority when it comes down to guiding the direction this agency takes in the long run. I understand our short-term goal _must_ be to secure the safety of England, and by extension, the world, but _long-term_ , I’m most interested in conducting field-based research. We have entirely new frontiers out there and I want to help lead the way into them. Whatever else Mycroft intends to build this agency into, he has my complete support so long as a sizable part of its purpose is exploration and knowledge.”

“That’s very admirable, Thomas. I’m sure your ancestor the Professor would be proud.” He set his glass on the side table. “Speaking of ancestors, I’d like to meet your ghost.”

“Certainly. I’d be glad to introduce you to her. If you’ll follow me…” He rose, leading Greg into the labyrinthine hallways. “It’s the last section of the house to be renovated. Once I became aware of her, I thought it best to leave things undisturbed until I better understood her nature. I’ve been meaning to have a medium come out anyway…” 

He led Greg to an unused wing of the house with signs that restoration had recently been stopped. The ghost at The Briars, had she not died in childhood, would have been Challenger’s great-great aunt. Thomas had already identified her from old family photos but hadn’t been able to communicate with her.

“Her name was Carolyn Malone, and she was killed during the war at age ten, when the house was bombed. I rarely see her directly; it’s almost always a reflection in the mirror, but I did see her directly once, reading a book.”

“So she can move stuff?”

“Yes. When I walked in on her that time with the book, she vanished, and the book hit the floor. I’ve seen her move other objects as well, while not being directly visible, even to me. I’ve been bringing her toys and books, and they’re often rearranged when I come back, but she either can’t or won’t interact with me.”

“But she does react to you, or she wouldn’t have disappeared when you walked in. Is it just the one room you see her in?”

“Yes, and only during the day and early evening. One of the maids claims she’s seen her walking on the lawns at night, but I’m not sure I believe her. She’s prone to… imagining things.”

“And none of the other staff has seen her?”

“I’ve kept them clear. I thought it best she be disturbed as little as possible until I know more about her. She’s right through here.” Thomas unlocked the door, stepping aside so Greg could enter. A large cracked mirror hung on one wall, and the room was scattered with books and toys. An increasingly familiar tingle went up the back of Greg’s neck. He could feel her presence. He stepped in, softly calling out her name.

\---

221A Baker street: (18 April early evening)

“Thank you again for keeping her for me. I promise I’m working on getting a nanny as soon as possible.”

“You’ve not picked one yet? I thought Sherlock made you a list.”

“It’s not that easy, Mrs. Hudson. I’ve put one girl on the maybe list, but I’d like to schedule a few more interviews. I know I’ve been imposing on you a lot, but it’s just this case…”

“That’s _fine_ , dear. I’m _glad_ you haven’t picked anyone yet.”

“You are?” John looked at her in surprise. The last time they’d talked, she’d all but ordered him to find a nanny as soon as possible and then reminded him of the many social opportunities she was giving up. “Why?”

“Would you consider someone who’s not a _professional_ nanny?”

“I suppose so… but they’d have to be experienced with children. Who’ve you got in mind?”

“My niece, Katherine. She’s got a daughter of her own, Abby, who’s just about Rosie’s age, and she’s moving to London. She doesn’t have a job lined up yet, so this would be perfect.”

“I’d certainly consider her. When’s she coming?”

“She’s not set a date, but as soon as she can. She’s trying to save up enough for a decent flat, but if you hire her, I’m sure she could start right away. Why don’t I see if she can come up for a visit tomorrow?”

“And it’s just her and her daughter?”

“Yes, poor dear.” Mrs. Hudson handed him a picture from her mantle of a young woman with short dark hair and large blue eyes, holding a baby. “She’s a lovely girl, really, and a wonderful mother.”

“I do like the idea. I need to talk with Sherlock about when I’m available, but I’ll let you know as soon as I can.” Smiling, he handed back the picture. “I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

“Speaking of Sherlock, this was delivered earlier.” She gestured at a potted tree, about two feet tall. “Do be a dear and run it up when you go.” She patted his shoulder affectionately. “Have I told you how proud of you I am, John? I’m sure it’s been hard for you, coming out after all this time.”

“Mrs. Hudson, I’m not…” John sighed, resigning himself to quit saying he wasn’t gay. “Thank you. It’s getting easier.”

“Sherlock said something earlier that made me think _Mycroft’s_ seeing someone now. I tried to ask him about it, but he’s always rushing about these days. Did I get that wrong? It’s a bit hard to imagine.”

“He’s seeing Greg.” Mrs. Hudson stared at him blankly. “Greg Lestrade.”

“Greg? _Greg_ is seeing Mycroft? But he’s so…” She covered her lips so she wouldn’t blurt out _handsome_. “I mean, they’re just so… _different_. I know it’s not my place to judge; live and let live, I say, but… Mycroft? I just don’t understand that.”

“I know exactly how you feel. But then again, I don’t understand _me_ either.” John shrugged, and then grinned at her. “But Greg seems happy, and he’s been good for Mycroft. When he’s with Greg, he seems almost… human. They actually seem very good together.”

“Well, it’s hard to imagine what he sees in him, but I suppose nothing’s impossible.”

“Mrs. Hudson, you have no idea.” John grinned, thinking he was about to carry a tree upstairs and have a perfectly serious discussion about fairies and the Devil with his boyfriend. His definition of impossible had radically changed.

He picked up the tree, which was, unfortunately, exactly as heavy as it looked, and said his goodbyes to Rosie and Mrs. Hudson. John made his way awkwardly up the stairs, trying to balance the tree with his bag, and wondering what could possibly happen next.

\---

Greg’s Car: (18 April, evening)

It felt like he was starting to get the hang of his powers as a medium. He’d identified Carolyn Malone as a new kind of ghost, one who seemed to exist in a sort of time loop of limited awareness, as if she were reliving her last day, over and over. Greg theorized that she disappeared at 10:37 every night, which was the exact time of the bombing, only reappear every morning. If she had a linking object, he suspected it was the mirror, which was one of the only original furnishings left in the room. He’d been able to speak to her, but she hadn’t been able to comprehend anything that didn’t fit with her timeframe. When he’d left the room and re-entered, she hadn’t remembered meeting him. He’d have to do some further study to decide if she was truly sentient, but he was content for now knowing that whatever her state, she didn’t seem to be suffering.

He was still making his mind up about what he thought about Thomas. His enthusiasm about exploration seemed genuine, but there was something predatory that seemed to lurk behind his smile, and Greg almost wished he had another vampire to compare him to. It could possibly be some instinctive human reaction, and not a real indication of his trustworthiness. He decided it was another thing he’d ask Mycroft’s opinion on. He wondered what effect Thomas’ transformation had on his staff turn-over rate. Were they suddenly unnerved by their employer? According to Thomas, only select friends and staff members at his London apartment knew what he was, and he wondered if their perceptions of him had changed.

Greg growled softly, not sure how to feel about Mycroft’s “special protection”. Keeping field command under Mycroft’s direct supervision was a sound idea but getting special treatment at work because Mycroft was his lover didn’t sit well with him. He was a bit surprised. One of the problems he’d always had with relationships was that Greg had often had to put his work first. There’d been too many plans cancelled and too many nights when he’d been called in to work. Now the problem was his partner wasn’t putting his own work first, and that didn’t fit with what he expected from Mycroft. By the time he pulled in Mycroft’s driveway, he’d worked through his initial anger, and decided he’d calmly ask him what his reasoning was.

\---

221B Baker Street: (18 April, mid-evening)

“Sherlock, there’s something I’d like to…” John sat the tree down and looked up, stopping in midsentence. Behind Sherlock’s chair, the space in front of the window had been transformed into a jungle of hanging plants which appeared to have been decorated for Christmas, complete with twinkling lights and garlands of glittering beads. A highly decorative birdhouse, styled to look like a miniature Chinese temple, hung from the center and there was a large blue butterfly fluttering around it. “What the hell is _that?”_

“Oh, Hello, John.” Sherlock popped up from behind the chair, apparently oblivious to the fact that the butterfly had just landed on his head. “It’s for Steven. How did the interviews go?”

“Fairly awful, really…” He stared at the butterfly with a sudden terrible suspicion. “And Steven would be?”

“A fairy. _My_ fairy, actually.” John watched it settle on Sherlock’s shoulder, flashing its wings.

 _“Why_ do you have a fairy?”

“I can tell you the whole story now, but you’ll just have to sit through it again at the briefing. Bring the tree over, would you?”

“Sherlock… Is it safe?”

“He’s harmless.”

“It hissed at me”, grumbled Bill from the kitchen.

 _“I’d_ hiss at you if I was… something that hisses.” John dropped his bag on the couch and grabbed the tree. “And _he’s_ still here, then?”, he hissed at Sherlock.

“I don’t have anywhere else to put him right now. Put the polyscias there in the center and come meet Steven.”

“The what?”

“The tree, John.”

John set the tree down, approaching the creature perched on his lover’s shoulder cautiously, looking for the horrible arsenal of weaponry Mycroft’s lab report described. All he saw was a large butterfly. Its underwings were light brown, dappled with darker spots, flashing to a bright, white-trimmed blue as it rapidly opened and closed them.

“It’s just a butterfly.”

“You’re making him nervous. Steven, this is _John_. He’s my…” He paused, choosing the proper fairy term to imply the importance of their relationship. “…mate.”

“Mate?” What had been a butterfly an instant ago was now a small blue man with large butterfly wings. It had spoken in a high-pitched but discernable human voice, and John stared at it, trying to figure out whether he should be fascinated or terrified. It stood perched on Sherlock’s shoulder, peering back at him. “John.”

“Dear God… it _talks_.” He watched it flit up and tuck itself behind Sherlock’s ear.

“Of course, he talks. He’s here to advise me about the Fae. Like I said, you’ll hear the whole thing later. What were you going to ask me?”

“What?” John was still staring at the fairy, wondering how to feel about it. There was a strangeness about it that even Thomas and Liam had lacked. It occurred to him that at least they were human once, but when he’d looked into its eyes, he’d had that sense of something entirely alien.

“When you came in. You were about to ask me something.”

“Oh. Yes, I got distracted. Who wouldn’t?” He couldn’t stop staring. “Sherlock, Look, I… I can’t have a serious discussion with you when I know you’ve got a tiny blue man tucked behind your ear. Can we go talk in the bedroom?”

Sherlock gently dislodged Steven from his hair and set him on the birdhouse. John watched him change back to a butterfly and then, quite suddenly, literally vanish right in front of his eyes.

“They can turn invisible too?” He shook his head, thinking life had taken yet another very strange turn.

“Fascinating, isn’t it? I’m trying to discover the mechanism.” John closed the door as Sherlock flung himself on the bed. He was trying to look casual, but his left hand was tapping nervously on the sheets. “You wanted to discuss something?”

“Sherlock, I…” John sat on the bed beside him and took his hand, stilling the restless movement. “We love each other.”

“Yes, John. I believe we’ve already agreed on that in a variety of interesting ways.”

“I… Mary and I were talking, and we think… she and I were wondering…”

“Whatever this is, it’s _Mary’s_ idea?”

“Sort of. She asked me if I’d thought about… Wait, why does it matter, if it’s _Mary’s_ idea?”

“John, I’ve come to the conclusion that in _some_ matters, between the three of us, _she’s_ the smart one.”

“…” John sighed. “You’re not making this easy. Look, do you want me to move back in or not?”

“I thought you already had.”

“Seriously?”

“Well, we are calling it _our_ room. I’ve got some plans I made up a while back for downstairs…”

“She said you’d have plans. Sherlock, I want you to think about this. Are you sure? It’s not just you and me. It’s you and me and Mary and Rosie, _all_ of us, living as a _family_ and I want you to be sure, _absolutely_ sure, that you want that. There’s a level of commitment there that goes far beyond just having your… _boyfriend_ move in.”

“You’re already my family, John.”

“Are you sure? There’ll be changes, ones that even you can’t predict.”

“Unpredictable changes? If I couldn’t reconcile myself to that idea, I’d have already gone mad. Who could have predicted last week that I would find myself semi-permanently bonded with a fairy?”

“That statement raises a lot of questions, but the most important is this: Just how harmless is this… Steven, anyway? If Rosie’s going to live here, it’s going to have to be safe for her. No loaded guns, no toxic chemicals, no severed heads in the fridge… and Bill. Bill’s got to go. He may be clean at the moment, but we both know he’s still using.”

“Do you really think I don’t know all that? Out of all of us, including me, Rosie is the one person Steven would _never_ harm. His kind has a natural affinity for human children. Once he makes a bond with her, he’ll provide her an additional level of safety.”

“What do you mean, make a bond with her? And if he’s so harmless, exactly how could he protect her?”

“They imprint on fellow members of their hive. He imprinted on you when I introduced you. Since I’m essentially his hive, he sees my mate as part of the hive. John, a fairy’s form is dictated by _intent_. Steven’s capable of transforming into a much more formidable creature, but _only_ if there’s someone around with malicious intentions. In such a case, he’d fight to the death and beyond to protect his hive, _including_ Rosie.”

“And _beyond?”_

“They’re incredibly hard to really kill. In most cases, they just reform in their home realm and come right back. I’m writing a monograph on them, by the way.”

“I look forward to actually reading one, for once.”

“And I will have a lab soon. You know I wanted to be a pirate when I was a child.”

“What has _that_ got to do with it?”

“Mycroft always wanted to be a spy. He’s taking this whole secret headquarters thing _very_ seriously. I’m really rather looking forward to the lab. Expect _gadgets_ , John.”

“What, like exploding pens and…” John grinned, remembering. “…umbrella guns?”

“Like anti-vampire mace.”

“Really?”

“Aerosolized silver, as per your and Molly’s recommendations. Also, very effective on werewolves. Oh, and there’s a set of jade knives and things for Mary. That sort of thing.”

“And you’re really sure, about us?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” He leaned down and gently kissed Sherlock. “There’s a lot I _don’t_ know, but I know I want to spend the rest of my days with you. Rosie’s my life, and Mary’s my soul, but you, Sherlock… you’re my heart.”

“And you’re _my_ heart.” Sherlock wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight, and thinking about what his deal with Oberon really meant.

\---

Mycroft’s Kitchen: (18 April, mid-evening)

“Your theory about everyone’s reactions to Thomas is worth looking into.”

“Well he does give me a tingle, kinda like a ghost does. Maybe other people pick that up subconsciously.” Greg grinned a bit as he grabbed himself a beer and settled on the stool beside Mycroft. He was never sure how much weight Mycroft actually gave his theories, but he appreciated the effort.  “I wanna hear how your day went before the others get here, but there’s somethin’ I’d like to have a little chat about first.”

“Certainly.”

“Thomas told me you set things up so that he doesn’t have _any_ authority over me, no matter what. I was wondering _why_.”

“I thought it _wisest_ for now.”

“Yeah, I figured _that_ much, I was just wondering _why_ it’s wise.”

“Because…” He took a sip of his martini, stalling for time. “Greg, I told you how _tough_ the negotiations were. It’s really difficult to explain how these things happen if you’ve never been in high-level discussions of that nature.”

“You do realize…” Greg had to bite back a chuckle. The king of spies was having a hard time lying to him these days. “…that I know that’s complete and utter _bullshit?”_

“I would hope so, yes.” Mycroft sighed. “And I know what you’re going to say next, and you’re entirely _right_. It’s very unprofessional of me.”

“Then you’re going to fix it?”

“If you insist.”

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna havta.”

“Are you _angry_ with me?”

“Nah. I was a little at first, but I got over that because it’s not like you to be unprofessional. I think, because it’s so _new_ , you and me, that you just acted emotionally because, you know, that _thing_ you can’t say.”

“Yes, _that_. Very much… I wish I _could_ say it, but if I did, the words… I feel it, towards you, and when _you_ say it to me, it means the _right_ thing but if I said it, it wouldn’t mean what it should. It’s difficult to explain…”

“Shh. It’s alright.” Greg stood up and wrapped his arms around him, stopping his words with a kiss. “I told you. You never have to say it, because I _know_ you love me.”

“I’m very grateful that you’re so understanding on that point. I suspect most people wouldn’t be.”

“Knowing you love me is a million times better than hearin’ it.” Greg kissed him again, then leaned back, leaving one arm draped on his shoulder. “Just promise me from now on that if we’re going to work together, any special favors you give me are strictly the off-duty kind, okay?”

\---

221B Baker street, bedroom: (19 April, early AM)

John just wanted to lie down and think, so he left Sherlock and Mary in the living room. They were trying to introduce her to a very reluctant Steven, who was apparently afraid of ghosts. The briefing at Mycroft’s had run very long, and John was a bit overwhelmed. Greg’s report had been interesting, and Mycroft’s descriptions of their up-coming headquarters and equipment had left John feeling a bit like James Bond. Sherlock’s tale of his meeting with Oberon had led to a very long discussion on the nature of fairies, and all the while, John had just stared at Sherlock and the others, wondering how they could all take it so calmly.

For the second time, someone he loved, one of his _family_ , had been abducted so that some entity with powers far beyond their reckoning could impose some favor on them. On the surface, Oberon was less terrifying than Death, but death, at least was comprehensible, and its personification less alien. There was a sense of humanity in Mary’s description of Death that Sherlock’s encounter with Oberon lacked. So far, they’d been lucky enough to have only encountered Powers, as Sherlock called them, that needed something from them. What would happen if one decided they were in the way of one instead? The thought was terrifying.

He kept picturing Sherlock, standing amid the leaves and great trees, seeing himself reflected in Oberon. There was something eerie, something unspoken in Sherlock’s matter-of-fact recounting of the events, that left John feeling very unsettled.

Now they were heading to L.A. to in a little over twenty-four hours for a chat with the King of Hell.

\---

Mycroft’s house, bedroom: (19 April, early AM)

“People are gonna start thinkin’ I’m moving in.” Greg stood behind Mycroft, nibbling on his neck as he slipped off his jacket. He started in on the buttons to his waistcoat as Mycroft hung his jacket and put away his cuff links and tie.

“Would that be so bad?” Mycroft asked softly. His anxious glance was met with a kiss. Greg wrapped his arm around him, holding him close as he whispered in his ear.

“I think it’d be really good.” His nimble fingers unbuttoned Mycroft’s shirt, caressing his skin as he unveiled it. Mycroft moaned softly, leaning into his touch. He could feel Greg’s cock pressing against him through their trousers. “I think we’re really good together.”

“I don’t want to rush you into anything you’re not ready for, but I…” Mycroft gasped as Greg’s fingers conquered his zipper and traced the path of his cock through his pants. “I find I don’t want you to leave.”

“I’ve got three months left on my lease, so if you get tired of me, you can send me home.” Greg stripped his lover’s trousers off, grinning as Mycroft tried to hang them while having his cock rubbed. “If I’m still here in three months, you’re stuck with me.”

“I worry you’ll tire of _me_.” Under his layer of smug self-importance, behind the air of haughty confidence he projected, there was enormous amount of insecurity that Mycroft kept carefully hidden, but with Greg it came leaking out, often uncontrollably. “I sure I’m _very_ difficult to live with.”

“Yeah, you’re a bit of a challenge at times.” Greg stripped their underclothes off and tossed them in the appropriate hamper, stopping to nibble at delightfully random places. “So am I. I’m workin’ on it, but I got a bit of a temper.”

He took Mycroft in his arms, lowering him onto the bed. “I don’t match the décor.” Greg crawled on top of him, grinding his hips against his lover. “I keep forgetting to use the damn coasters.” He lavished attention on that spot behind Mycroft’s ear, the one that made him shiver so delightfully. “I like sex. A lot.” His fingers caressed his lover’s cock, making him gasp.

“We… have _that_ in common.” Mycroft’s insecurities gave way under the gentle insistence of Greg’s touch. His own body’s response always amazed him, and if he didn’t trust his lover so much, it would have terrified him. Greg kissed his neck again, pressing his cock against his lover’s thigh. Mycroft moaned again as his Greg’s fingers teased across the head of his cock.

“I like making you cum.” His breath tickled Mycroft’s ear, his voice a low growl. “Do you want me to make you cum, Mycroft?”

“Please.”

“Tell me what you want me to do to make you cum.” Greg’s voice rumbled in his ear as his hands roamed across his lover’s body, teasing the words from his lips.

“I… want you inside me.” He parted his legs, raising his hips so Greg’s slick fingers could reach their target.

“Yeah?” Greg slid his finger across his opening, not quite pressing it in. “Tell me you want my cock in you, lover. Tell me what you want. It turns me on, hearin’ you say it.”

“I want… your cock in me. I want you on top of me, like this, with your cock deep inside me.” He could feel himself blushing, but it only seemed to add to his desire. Greg slid one finger inside him and Mycroft groaned with need. “I want to feel you, cumming inside me. I want to see your face when you cum.”

“And what if I cum first?” Greg slipped a second finger in, twining then together as he slowly slipped them in-and-out. “What do you want me to do with your cock?”

“I want you to… if you’d like, would you…” Greg silenced him with a kiss.

“Don’t ask me, lover. _Tell_ me.” He grinned as Mycroft squirmed beneath him, seeking to drive him deeper. “Tell me if you want me to suck your cock until you cum.”

“I want that, Greg. I want you to take me. I want to feel you drive yourself deep inside when you cum. And I want you to suck my cock until I cum and then kiss me, I want to taste myself on your lips, I want… I want _you_ , Greg.” His face flushed red as the words came babbling out. His body writhed with need and he knew what it was like to be on fire without burning.

“Then let me get right on that, lover.” He slid over, growling with pleasure as he sank himself slowly into Mycroft’s eager body. Every time Greg coaxed his lover a little further into expressing his needs, he felt like he’d won a victory for them both.

\---

221B Baker street: (19 April, AM)

John struggled awake, fighting off some figure from a quickly fading nightmare. A loud thump by the side of the bed startled him to full alertness, and he looked over, eyes wide and heart pumping with adrenaline. Sherlock was sprawled naked on the floor and rubbing his cheek.

“You were having a nightmare.” He rose gracefully from the floor and sat beside John, pulling at his clothes. “You should really be naked, John. I know you set the rules in bed, but I want that to be a rule. A rule that you’re always naked in bed.”

“Did I hit you? Come here, let me see that.” John examined the light red mark on Sherlock’s cheek until he was content it wouldn’t bruise. “God, I’m sorry. I keep hurting you… How’s that bruise on your shoulder?”

“About that… First, get naked. There’s something I want to give you.”

“Sherlock, I…” He started to protest out of general principles, as he wasn’t a fan of being awakened in the middle of the night, but his mind wandered back to _the_ _object_. John found himself wondering if it was in Sherlock right now, and that line of inquiry made his cock twitch. He shimmied out of the last of his clothes, tossing them vaguely in the direction of the chair.

“It’s interesting how a statement can be interpreted wrongly in such a delightfully right way. The two things weren’t connected. I really do have something to give you, but I’m very happy to follow through with your assumption.” He leaned over and snatched his coat off the floor, digging through the pockets. “First, this is from Mary.” Sherlock pulled a small box out of his pocket. Inside was a pale green jade ring, set inside a silver band. A slot for a second ring was empty.

“A jade ring? Is she wearing the other one?”

“No. It was meant for me, but the only way I could get Steven to come out was to put it around his neck. I’ve ordered another one for him, so I can get that one back.” Sherlock removed the ring from the box and took John’s left hand.

“Sherlock, no, I…” John jerked his hand away, instinctively protecting the place where his wedding ring once was.

“She made me _promise_ , John.” He looked at him gravely. “She’s afraid, and I think her fears are merited. She’s trying very hard not to be tempted by the warmth. Whatever life-energy she absorbs when she touches someone is highly concentrated in fairies, which is why Steven was so afraid of her. _Wear_ it, John. I trust in her self-control as much as you do, but do it for _her_ peace of mind.”

“Alright”, he said softly. His hand trembled slightly as he held it out and let Sherlock slide it on his finger. He stared at the ring on his finger, deeply moved. “I miss her being alive, you know. I don’t want you to misunderstand. I’m _happy_ with us. I don’t want to change that, I just miss her sometimes. It’s not about sex, it’s just… her.”

“I know. I don’t mind, John; you feeling that way about her.” He smiled a little too brightly and pulled out a small, somewhat rumpled brown paper bag.

“What is that?”

“I made a… small miscalculation earlier, and I’m seeking to remedy it. Put this on.” He pulled out a black ring and handed it to John along with the bag. Inside was a number of rings exactly like the first. “And be careful not to touch Steven with it, as it’s iron.”

“So this to protect me from fairies?”

“In a way…” He fidgeted nervously. “It’s more a precaution.”

“Against what? Sherlock… what is it you’re _not_ telling me?”

“John, I love you.”

“And as _nice_ as that is to hear, I suspect there’s a _but_ there that I’m _not_ going to like.”

“There was a magically binding oath involved in my deal with Oberon. A sort of penalty he could impose if I fail him. I don’t intend to fail, John, so it probably won’t be an issue.”

“What _kind_ of penalty?”

“They’re very devious with words, the Fae. Powerful Fae like Oberon can literally use words to weave magic. Very tricky to deal with.” He looked guiltily at John. “I really did think, at the time, that when he said _on my heart_ that it meant my _life;_ that he’d literally stop my heart, but Steven says my interpretation’s a bit off.”

“Off how?”

“John, you’re perfectly safe. I want to say that right off. Killing humans isn’t within the power of Oberon’s Position.”

“Then why am I the one wearing the ring? And why do I need a whole bag of them?”

“To protect _me_ from losing the one thing I value _most_. I’d much rather lose my _life_ than lose your love. And because you’re under a Fae oath, iron will rust very quickly when you wear it, so you’ll need to replace it every couple of days.”

“Lose my love? How?”

“If he invokes the oath, he can make you fall in love with someone else. It’s a _bit_ your fault, really. He couldn’t have used that particular oath if _you_ hadn’t marked me…”

 _“My_ fault? This is _not_ , and will _never_ be, in any way, _my fault!_ You are by _far_ the _most_ reckless person I’ve _ever_ known. I don’t even know _what_ part of this conversation to get angry about first!”

“Can’t we just have sex instead?”

“No! What is _wrong_ with you? _Why_ would you even risk your life like that?”

“I needed the information I got from him. It was for the work, John. We discussed this. But for the record, if I’d _known_ what I was gambling with, even for the work, I wouldn’t have taken the risk.”

“That’s no excuse for… Wait. _What_ did you just say?” John stared at him in shock.

“I _already_ said your love was what I value most. Haven’t you been listening?”

“You place my love _above_ your work? There’s something more important to Sherlock Holmes than his _work_ , and it’s _my_ love.”

“God, John, yes; don’t rub it in. Better yet, let’s just rub each other.” He reached out, cautiously caressing John’s thigh.

“What am I going to do with you?” John grumbled. He wanted to be angry. He decided he had every right to be angry, but his anger crumbled under the weight of what Sherlock had said. He placed John’s love _above_ his work. It was almost unimaginable, and John’s heart soared.

Sherlock slithered across him, lying down beside him. He reached behind himself, and John heard the soft thud of rubber hitting the floor. _The object_. His cock throbbed hopefully, and John reached for him, deciding if he wanted to be angry, he’d deal with it in the morning.

After, as Sherlock drifted off to sleep in his arms, he finally got a chance to see the bite mark he’d left on his shoulder. The bruising was entirely gone, and the dark ring his teeth had made was now a shimmering gold. John traced it with his fingers, sighing softly.

\---


	9. I'm Still Not Gay

Mycroft’s House, kitchen: (19 April, early morning)

“So you don’t see ‘em glowin’? Even when they disappear, I still see a glow.” After their morning rituals, which Greg was pleased to see now included the new exercise plan, they’d gone to the back garden so that Mycroft could somewhat reluctantly tend his fairies. “Must be a medium thing.”

“Yes, I presume so.”  Mycroft watched him rummaging through the refrigerator searching for breakfast ingredients. Seeing Greg with the fairies had reminded him of how different the two of them were. Greg had greeted them with an almost child-like delight, and Mycroft had seen the fairies transform right before his eyes. They’d been, according to Sherlock, a drab and somber lot compared to the other hive, but after fifteen minutes with Greg, they’d become more colorful and vibrant. He’d literally disarmed them, and only a few had retained their weaponry by the time they’d gone back inside. “Greg, about last night…”

“Wait till you taste this omelet _before_ you change your mind about me movin’ in.” He opened various cabinets, then turned to Mycroft. “Where the hell is the spice cabinet?”

“Pull out the panel to your right.” He watched as Greg cooked breakfast, wondering what life would be like with them living together. “Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”

“It _feels_ right, but this whole thing with us happened really fast, so if _you_ need things to slow down, I’ll understand. I get that you’re a very private guy, an’ you like things orderly. Movin’ me in is gonna change things. If you need more time, I’m willing to wait because you’re worth it.”

“Sherlock said I _need_ a bit of disorder in my life.”

“I think he’s right, but what matters is what _you_ think.”

“I think that I’ve needed you all of my life”, he said softly. “But when I think about all the differences between us, I worry. I really _am_ going to be remarkably difficult to live with.”

“Yeah, I’m a little scared, too.” He kissed Mycroft on the cheek as he set his plate in front of him. “It’s always scary when you fall in love.”

“Are you _sure_ , Greg? You did say it takes time, that sort of thing, and it’s only been a few days. I… I’m not very good with _having_ feelings, much less describing them. I just know I want you to stay.”

“Well, I _want_ to stay, so maybe we’ve got more in common than you think. Besides, I think those differences could be a good thing. I could use a bit of order in my life, so it balances out.”

“This is remarkably good”, Mycroft gestured towards the omelet. “I’m glad you’re staying.”

“I told you to taste my cooking before you made up your mind.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know”, Greg grinned. “I love you too.”

\---

221B Baker Street: (19 April, early morning)

“You are insatiable.” John smiled, thinking that Sherlock’s hand brushing against his cock was a much more pleasant wake-up than his usual alarm.

“I do seem to be, don’t I?” He slid closer, seeking as much skin-to-skin contact he could get. John felt Sherlock’s cock, insistently hard against his thigh.

“I’ll… be right back.” John grabbed his dressing gown and fled to the washroom. He did need to pee, but he also needed time to collect his thoughts. He’d been very aware, for a moment, that he was lying in bed with another man’s cock pressed against him. He’d also been very aware of his own cock, throbbing in response. It was the latter fact that gave him pause.

Wanting _Sherlock_ was a concept he’d reconciled himself with and almost come to understand. Somehow the great love that he’d come to feel for this man had spilled over into sexual passion, and that had come to make a certain kind of sense to John. Wanting Sherlock’s _cock_ was quite another matter. He finished peeing and just stood there, staring at his own cock.

He’d _liked_ how it felt; the hard flesh pressing against him. When he pictured sex with Sherlock, he thought of the amazing blow jobs he gave, the way his slender ass arched into his touch, his eyes, the way his dark curls contrasted with his ivory skin… in short, everything _but_ his cock.

His mind flashed back to Sherlock as he’d just seen him, sprawled naked and aroused. He could picture his cock vividly; the pale scars against the hard flesh, and his own cock twitched again, somewhat traitorously in John’s opinion. He sighed and went to the sink, splashing some water on his face. There was no use in lying to himself. Thinking about Sherlock’s cock turned him on. He stared into his reflection, wondering briefly who he really was and if it really mattered. He tried to remind himself he was going to quit worrying about labels.

Pulling the dressing gown around him, he headed back into the bedroom, trying to resign himself to the idea that he might be a little bit gay. He stepped through the door, feeling anxious as he shrugged off the dressing gown. John glanced over, somewhat relieved to see Sherlock had rolled over on his belly, and the organ in question was out of sight. An instant later, he found himself wanting to look at it.

“Is something wrong, John?”

“No, I just…”, he sighed and laid beside his lover, reaching up to gently stroke his cheek. “I had a moment. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“No”, John laughed. “But I _am_ sure I love you.” He gently rolled Sherlock onto his side, facing him. His hand trailed down his lover’s body and he reached down, his fingertip tracing the vein on Sherlock’s cock. His eyes traveled up and down his lover’s body, then back to his cock as his finger slid across the smooth head. _“Every_ part of you is beautiful to me”, he whispered. “Even your cock.” He leaned over to kiss him, letting himself just follow his desire. Pressing Sherlock onto his back, he slowly kissed his way down the ivory contours of muscle and bone until he reached his cock. John glanced up, seeing Sherlock’s eyes go wide with surprise as he reverently pressed his lips against it.

John nibbled his way down the shaft, unsure in the moment just how far he was willing to go but strangely curious to find out. Working his way back up, he parted his lips, tentatively licking the tip. A single drop of pre-cum glinted in the slit, and his tongue flicked out, lapping it up. His body tingled with desire as he tasted his lover, and he parted his lips, sucking the head into his mouth.

Sherlock moaned, senses nearly overloaded, digging his long fingers into John’s skin as he clutched his shoulder. What little of his great intellect he could summon was occupied with trying to keep from thrusting himself down his lover’s throat. John’s fingers wrapped around the base, following the motions of his head.

John had always enjoyed going down on women. He found it incredibly erotic, and he’d taken a certain pride in his skill, knowing he could make them come. Despite his lack of skill, he found that going down on Sherlock was just as intensely erotic. His mouth slid back up, milking another bitter-savory drop of fluid from his lover. Savoring it on his tongue, he glanced up as Sherlock moaned his name in one long sigh, and John suddenly realized he wanted to taste more of him.

“Cum for me, Sherlock.” John slid down a little further on the shaft, taking as much in as he could without triggering his gag reflex before sliding back up. In almost no time, Sherlock was babbling his name. John felt his lover’s body tense and the flight of goosebumps across his skin, and knew he was about to cum. He swallowed without hesitation, only stopping when his inability to swallow fast enough forced him to. His own cock throbbed with need so hard it hurt, wonderfully so. He looked up at Sherlock, eyes blazing with lust, as the last of his lover’s orgasm splattered across his chin and throat.

“Oil.” John growled, crawling up Sherlock’s body, stopping to nip lightly on one nipple.

“Already done.” Sherlock shivered deliciously, arching his hips up to meet his lover’s thrusting cock. John pulled him into a kiss, rough with desire, and he tasted himself on John’s lips. “Oh, God, John… _fuck_ me. Fuck me _hard_ , John.”

John growled as he thrust himself deep into the tight heat of Sherlock’s body, pounding himself repeatedly into his lover’s eager flesh. He was fiercely, incredibly aroused and it wasn’t long before his own orgasm followed. He cried out Sherlock’s name as he emptied himself into his body.

They collapsed together, panting and staring into each other’s eyes. It was some time before either of them could think clearly enough to speak coherent words.

“That was…” John gasped, still trying to catch his breath. He didn’t think he’d ever fucked anybody that _hard_ and he looked over at Sherlock in concern. His lover’s face was curved into a wide smile.

“Amazing.” Sherlock giggled from pure delight and kissed the first bit of skin he could get to, which turned out to be his shoulder. “You amaze me, John.”

“I wasn’t too rough then, that bit in the end?”

“It was _all_ amazing…” his giggling turned into laughter. “…including the _in the end_ bit.”

“I’m trying to be…”, he snickered despite his words. “…serious. I’ve really never let myself get that rough with someone before.” He sat up, then leaned over to give Sherlock another kiss. “I’ve never done… well, _obviously_ , the _other_ thing either.”

“Are you alright with it, the _other_ thing?”, he asked casually, trying to conceal the massive amount of hope he had that John was, indeed, alright with the other thing.

“I _think_ so… I’m not promising to do it again though. I might _never_ …” His mind flashed back to how incredibly turned on he’d got. “Yeah, no. I’m _definitely_ gonna do it again. Just, you know, if the whim strikes me.”

“Good.” John watched appreciatively as Sherlock stretched languidly. “I quite liked it.”

“Yes, I’d think so, what with you never having had a… blowjob before.” It felt strange to say the word in the context of having just given one.

“I think at one point, I almost fainted. You made me swoon, John. I never understood how that was possible; swooning.”

“Just don’t expect me to match _your_ technique. That swallowing thing. I don’t think I could ever manage that.”

“I _am_ a trained professional.” He stretched again, then leaned in for a final kiss. “Let’s go get cleaned up. Unless you have some objections, I’ve arranged for you to meet Mrs. Hudson’s niece after lunch. I’ve got an errand or two to run soon, so I may not be back until late this afternoon. You could sleep in if you’d like, but we’ll have plenty of time to sleep on the plane.”

“I’m not looking forward to that.” John frowned. “Are you still dead set on it, this chat with the Devil?”

“Of course. Now come, let’s go have a bath.” Sherlock grinned. John naked in the bath with him was almost as much fun as John naked in bed.

\---

Greg’s House: (19 April, mid-morning)

“I hope I’m not imposing on your day off.”

“Nah, John, come on in an’ have a seat. I was just packin’ a few things up. Can I get you something?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks.” John sat on the couch, looking around the flat. “Did you say you were packing? I thought you just moved in here, what, six months ago?”

“Nine. I got three months left in case he gets tired of me, but I’m movin’ in with Mycroft.” Greg grinned happily.

“Already?”

“Yeah, I know it’s _fast_ , but we’re in love and neither of us wants to sleep alone anymore.”

“I know how that feels, the sleeping alone thing. I’m moving back in with Sherlock.”

“I think we all figured you would. You’ve never just dropped by to chat before, so what’s up, John?”

“I… I think I may be a bit gay after all.”

“Yeah? What makes you think _that?”_ Greg kept a straight face despite his amusement.

“Greg, I _know_ how ridiculous I must sound. I’m with the man I love, every night, and if I’m going to be committed to being with _him_ for the rest of my life, which I _am_ , then wondering if I’m gay or not sounds silly. It’s not even what people might say. It’s just… I find things going a little bit further every time, and I find myself doing things that I thought I’d never do… I feel like I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

“What’d you do, give him a blowjob?”

“…” John coughed, wishing he’d accepted a drink just to cover his embarrassment. “Yes. I most certainly did. How did you know?”

“Lucky guess. How’d it go?”

“It…” John was really beginning to hate blushing. “It went really _well_ , actually. That’s sort of my problem.”

“John, quit dancing around and just put it right out there.”

“I _liked_ it, Greg. He didn’t _ask_ me to do it, I just… _wanted_ to. I feel like I’m losing my mind! Just out of the blue, I wake up this morning and suddenly it’s like: Oh, hey, now I seem to like cock!”

“Calm _down_ , John. Lemme ask you this; do you like cock in general or just Sherlock’s?”

“No, I… It’s just _him_ , of course. But I… there’s a story there that’s not my place to tell, but it’s _complicated_ , sometimes with him. I think you probably understand what I mean.”

“Yeah, Mycroft’s… complicated too.”

“I’ve thought about it a lot, and I get wanting _him_ , sort of. I fell in love with him somewhere along the line, and once I _did_ , I started wanting him. Maybe this doesn’t make much sense to you but wanting _him_ and wanting his _cock_ are just two _very_ different things to me.”

“Why? What’s wrong with it? So you like giving your lover blowjobs; so what? I like doin’ it too.”

“Greg, I _really_ liked it. I guess I thought that one day, I might be able to… I don’t know, _tolerate_ doing it for him, but I didn’t expect to get so… It was just very exciting.”

“So, if I’ve got things right, you’re _worried_ because you discovered something you can do in bed that you and Sherlock both like.”

“When you put it that way, I feel like a complete idiot.”

“Nah. You’re just still worryin’ too much about labels.”

“I’m _trying_ not to, but I suppose you’re right. It’s not even about what _other_ people think I am anymore. It’s about what I think I am.” John sighed. “I just wish I understood _why_ I found it such a… turn on. Liking it the way I did makes me feel…”, he shrugged apologetically. “…a lot more gay than just, you know, being the top. I suppose this all just seems very stupid to you.”

“Nah, I get it. You’re questioning your masculinity because givin’ blowjobs seems passive to you, and that makes you feel less than a man. You’re a little homophobic, John.”

“I’m _not_ , though. Maybe, you know, a bit when I was younger, sure, but I don’t have a problem with gay people. My sister’s gay.”

“You don’t see it, but it’s there. You’re hung up on what makes you _think_ you’re the dominant one, because you’ve got it in your head that doin’ stuff like giving blowjobs make you less than a man, which is total ballocks, by the way. If you think that giving blowjobs or being the bottom makes someone less of a man, you’re homophobic.”

“Maybe you’re right. I don’t know. I don’t think any less of Sherlock for it, but he’s _Sherlock_ , and I don’t judge him by the same standards as I do other people. I guess I do look down a bit on men that seem… a bit too feminine. They make me… uncomfortable.”

“John, that’s a prejudice that you probably need to work on, but bein’ a bit swishy doesn’t have a damn thing to do with your problem. Look, I told you _I’m_ versatile. Does that change how much of a man I am in your eyes, now that you _know_ I like takin’ it up the arse sometimes?”

“No, I… I admire you, Greg. I even envy you a bit. You seem so comfortable with who you are. Were you always this comfortable with yourself?”

“I’ve had a long time to learn things the hard way.” Greg chuckled, shaking his head ruefully. “My first time, I was all kinds of confused. By the time I figured out what I liked, I didn’t give a fuck about what anybody else thought. You’re still learnin’ what you like, and when it comes to how you see yourself, you’ve got the labels all wrong.”

“How so?”

“You’re not gay, John. Even if you’re faithful to Sherlock the rest of your life, you’re still attracted to women. Is anything you do in bed with him gonna change that? Would lettin’ him top you change it?”

“No, I don’t think it would.”

“So you can quit worryin’ about being gay.”

“Then I’m… what? Bi? Does being attracted to one man make me bi?”

“Maybe. I think you’ll probably find it easier to tell people that instead of explaining that Sherlock’s the _only_ man that turns you on, and honestly… John, you’ve gotta admit you’re good at lying to yourself. Maybe it _is_ just Sherlock, or maybe one day you’ll see some random guy and notice that he’s hot. So what? How does that _matter;_ who you think is hot, if you’re committed to Sherlock?”

“I guess it doesn’t, really.”

“As for the rest of it…  What the two of you get up to in bed doesn’t change who you are as a man. You need to get that through your head.”

“I’m trying to. I don’t… Maybe I _am_ a little phobic with him, but I don’t _want_ to be. Not with him. He deserves better.”

“You both do.”

“Greg, what we do together; it’s all he’s ever known, and that scares me a bit.”

“Why? Are you scared he’s gonna want to top you?”

“No, he’s very… You know what? I think I _am_. I think I’m afraid he _wants_ to, and we both know he has a way of getting what he wants. And part of me thinks I’m not being fair to him. Sometimes I worry that I’m taking advantage; that he’s missing out on something because I won’t do… _that_. And after this morning, I don’t know _what_ to think about what I want.”

“You’re making this a lot bigger deal than it needs to be. He may not even want _that_ , and even if he does, it’s not like it’d _kill_ you if you let him try toppin’ you. Worst case scenario, it hurts for a few minutes and you know you don’t like it. Best case, it’s pretty damn good.”

“I have a hard time seeing it that way.”

“Yeah, and I bet you’d have said the same thing about givin’ blowjobs yesterday.”

“You’re not wrong”, he admitted somewhat reluctantly.

“My best advice is just see what happens. Don’t force yourself to do anything you don’t wanna do, but give yourself permission to give it a try if it feels right. Just remember: Who puts what where doesn’t mean a damn thing once you get outta bed.”

“Thanks. It’s good of you, you know. I hope you don’t mind me coming to you like this. It really does help me sort things out in my head.”

“You’re practically my brother-in-law now, John. That makes us family.”

“Wow, yeah… I guess it does. Greg, does it ever scare you, being with Mycroft? I mean, he’s like Sherlock, isn’t he? They’re both… damaged.”

“I’m not scared so much as… aware. It’d a big enough responsibility if they were just ordinary people, and they’re _way_ past ordinary. The _world_ needs the two of them, especially now.”

“I just… Sherlock _seems_ really happy, but you know how he is; it’s easy to forget how much he’s been through. Then I’ll have this moment when I’m reminded that he’s been through things, horrible things, all his life, and I just can’t imagine how he manages to just… deal with that and take a chance on loving me. I’m afraid that he’ll just snap one day, and it’ll be my fault.”

“You’re good at gettin’ things backwards, John. He needs you so he won’t snap. A man can’t pretend to cut his emotions off forever and stay sane. Yeah, it’d be your fault if you did something stupid like cheat on ‘im, but he needs you. He _needs_ you because he trusts you. That’s not something either Sherlock or Mycroft does, trusting. If you don’t break that trust, he’ll be fine. I’m _good_ for Mycroft and you’ve always been good for Sherlock. Quit worryin’ so much about what’s going on in your head and just go be happy with him.”

\---

Helicopter flight to Foulness: (19 April, mid-morning)

“Are you absolutely certain there will be enough iron on-site? If there’s too little when we set off the explosion, we’re just going to compound the problem.”

“I have arranged the amounts you specified. Is there really no way to eradicate them without destroying the lab?” Mycroft sighed unhappily at his younger brother. “There are still a lot of unanswered questions. Once we do this, we’ll lose our chance to investigate why all this happened.”

“Unless you’ve found a sorcerer you’ve failed to mention, no. If we had more time, we could flood the area with aerosolized iron and keep them at bay long enough to investigate, but this isn’t an issue Oberon’s going to be patient about.”

“What kind of sorcerer? There _is_ Lowell.”

“A junkie that can’t hold a demon in a circle for more than a few seconds is useless. We’d need someone with real power that knows how to use it, and I seriously doubt anyone fits that description yet.”

“Yes… I imagine you’re correct.”

“Brother mine…” Sherlock looked at him warningly. “I hope you know what you’re doing. Have _you_ had any success?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Magic isn’t something to trifle with, Mycroft. Have you had any success?”

“If you _must_ know, it seems I may have some gift for it, but it’s a very difficult and at this point, unpredictable thing. More research is in order before I can know with any certainty how to wield it effectively, so I’d appreciate it if you would keep this between us for now.”

“If you insist. Have you found any reliable texts as of yet?”

“No. There are several that have some promise, but none of them consistently so. If I have any real progress, I’ll let you know.”

“What about the _other_ thing? Isn’t there any way to stop them?”

“Unfortunately, no. It is inevitable, little brother. We’ll have to face _them_ sooner or later.”

“I’d much prefer later. It may be that this trip to L.A. will take longer than I anticipated…”

“Don’t you _dare_. If you make me face them alone, I will do everything in my power to see you regret it. Deeply.”

“Have you told them about Greg?”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“We don’t have to tell them.” Sherlock’s fingers drummed anxiously on the seat beside him.

“I don’t, but then I manage to keep myself out of the tabloids. You and John, on the other hand, are minor celebrities these days.”

“God! It’s going to be awful.”

“Yes, it is.” Mycroft sighed mournfully.

The two of them sat quietly, each thinking with dread of the impending disaster that was a visit from their parents.

\---

221B Baker Street: (19 April, early afternoon)

“Here? Are you sure? I thought I’d meet her at the café. I don’t want to scare her.” He turned from Mary to glare at Bill. “There are a lot of scary things, here in the flat.”

“John, if the _flat_ scares her, she’s not going to last long as our nanny.”

“You’ve got a point but there _are_ limits.”

“You’re just lucky your little appointment coincides with my afternoon repose.” With an air of great dignity, Bill tightened the belt of the tattered dressing gown he’d appropriated from John’s closet and went upstairs.

“God, Mary, I hope we like her. I’d feel bad, turning down Mrs. Hudson’s niece.”  A knock at the door interrupted Mary’s reply. John crossed to the door, pulled his shirt straight, took a deep breath and opened it.

“Hi, I’m Kat. You must be Dr. Watson.” She shifted the toddler she was carrying on her hip and held out her hand. John took it, trying not to stare. He’d _seen_ her picture. Her hair hadn’t been bright _blue_ in the picture. “This is Abby. I hope you don’t think it’s unprofessional, me bringing her, but she’s my resume.”

“No, I… come in. It’s _good_ you brought her. It’ll give us a chance to see how the girls get on.” John was still trying not to stare. She’d had a jumper on in the picture that had hidden the bright tattoos sleeving both her arms.

“Cool flat.” She stopped suddenly, eyes wide, staring across the room at where Mary stood.

“Can you _see_ me?”

“Yeah…” She glanced over at John. “Can _he?”_

“Kat, this is Mary. My wife.”

“Aunt Martha _said_ she died. I guess that’s why I can see through you?” She set her daughter on the floor next to Rosie, and stepped closer to Mary, looking at her curiously.

“You’re not… I don’t know, terrified? Freaking out?”

“Not really. I’ve got _questions_ , but it’s cool.” Kat looked at John and shrugged. _“Should_ I be scared?”

“I’m not going to hurt you, Kat.”

“Yeah, I mean, you _look_ like a nice lady. I didn’t expect to meet a ghost, but I’ve _seen_ the picture Aunt Martha showed you. I don’t think you were expecting _me_ either.” She sat in the chair opposite John, watching the two girls as they played on the floor.

“Kat, have you ever seen a ghost before?” asked Mary.

“No, you’re my first.”

 _“How_ are you so calm?”, asked John in wonderment.

“Because I don’t think you’d hurt me or Abby. Aunt Martha brags about her boys all the time. She loves you guys like a mother, so you must be good people.”

“We love her too. She’s been very good to us. She doesn’t know about Mary, by the way, so I’d appreciate it if you don’t tell her yet. We’re just waiting for the right time.”

“Mrs. Hudson can’t see me”, Mary explained. “Most people can’t. You said I look transparent to you?”

“Yeah. I can see right through you. It’s kinda beautiful, really.”

“She’s sensitive, John. Like Sherlock. Oh, this _is_ good.” Mary looked over at John, obviously excited by the idea of having a nanny that could see and hear her. “She could be perfect!”

“Don’t get too excited, Mrs. Watson. You might not want me.”

“Why is that, Kat? And please, call me Mary.”

“The moment I found out I was pregnant, I turned my life around, but before then I made a lot of mistakes. Abby saved me from all that. I quit everything, right that moment. I quit drugs, alcohol, cigarettes… I got a job so I could try to start saving for her. Abby’s father was a junkie, and he didn’t want to quit, so I left him too. He’s why I want to move to London. He’s been in prison for the last year, but he’s getting out soon, and I don’t want him in my life, or Abby’s.”

“That’s very commendable, and I’m the last one to deny someone a second chance…”  John glanced up, smiling at Mary, who was leaning on the back of his chair. “…but I’ve got to have some reassurances. Would you be willing to take a drug screen if I asked you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you have a criminal record?”

“I had a public indecency charge when I was sixteen, but they dropped it. I was with some friends in the park one night, and we got high and decided to take a swim in the fountain.”

“I think we can overlook that. This may seem strange with Mary here, but you should know that Sherlock and I are a couple. Is that going to be a problem for you?”

“No. I’ve got tons of gay friends from art school.”

“Well, then. Let’s talk about parenting skills. What kind of discipline do you think is appropriate?”

\---

221B Baker street: (19 April, early afternoon, thirty minutes later)

“John, I think she’s perfect.” Mary sat on the end of the bed, watching him pack for the trip to L.A. “I really liked her.”

“I liked her too. I mean, I saw the hair and the tattoos and thought _no_ , but her not running out of here screaming when she saw you kind of balanced that out. And Kat does seem like a very good mother. I think she’ll take good care of Rosie. Letting her help Mrs. Hudson take care of her while we’re gone was a great idea.” John was sorting through the shirts he’d brought over, trying to decide which one was appropriate for a meeting with the Devil.

“It gives us all a bit of a test run. I’m just excited about having a nanny I can talk to. Ugh, not that one.” She gestured disapprovingly at the shirt in his hand. “The blue one.”

“Oh, I saw Greg earlier. Did you know he’s moving in with Mycroft?”

“Good for Greg. I bet he’s happy. So, did he drop by with a new case?”

“No, he was off today. I stopped by his flat when I was out shopping for Rosie.”

“Oh?” Mary raised one eyebrow curiously. “Another little man-chat?”

“Something like that, yeah. He called me his brother-in-law. That’s a nice thought, don’t you think? Being related to Greg.”

“Yeah, Greg’s great.” She sat in silence, waiting to see if he was going to tell her more. After a few minutes, she finally asked. “Is everything okay, John?”

“I just had some questions.”

“I won’t pry, if you don’t want me to.”

“Mary, I…” John closed his eyes and let out a long breath. He sat on the bed beside her, giving her a long, loving look. “I miss you, you know. I know you’re still here, and I’m happy with Sherlock, but part of me will always… want you.”

“I know”, she said softly. “But it’s good, isn’t it, you and Sherlock?”

“Yeah. It’s just… harder for me now, being with him; being with a man. Sometimes I question myself and talking to Greg helps. I’m _still_ not gay, by the way.” He grinned at her for an instant. “And that’s according to Greg, so there. But I think I might be a little bit bi. It’s still just Sherlock; _that_ hasn’t changed, but I think maybe I have. There are certain lines there with him that I thought I’d never cross, and I… crossed one.”

“What’d you do, give him a blowjob?” She watched him stare at her in silence. “Oh, you _did_ , didn’t you? Good for you. Did he like it?”

“Yeah, the thing is… Mary, I liked it. He didn’t ask me to do it. I saw it, and I _wanted_ to do it, and I _liked_ it. One day I have to make myself even look at it, and the next, suddenly I want it, and I don’t really understand _why_. It’s like I don’t know myself anymore.”

“It makes sense to me. You’ve always liked going down _there_.”

“Yes, but not with a _man_.”

“John, you’re in love with a man, and you liked giving him a blowjob. Is that really so awful?”

“No, it shouldn’t be. I think Greg’s right about me being homophobic. I wouldn’t be questioning myself so much if I wasn’t, and that’s something I need to work through. God knows, I don’t look down on Sherlock for it. Just the opposite, really. I think he’s incredibly brave.”

“So are _you_ , John.”

“Am I? I don’t feel brave.”

“That’s because you’re comparing yourself to Sherlock. It’s not a competition. It took courage to admit how you really feel about him, and courage to accept how he feels about you. You should be proud of that.”

“I know. It’s just me being an idiot and worrying too much about the wrong thing.” As he zipped the bag shut, he noticed the iron ring on his right hand had turned bright with rust. “I’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

\---

Helicopter Flight from Foulness: (19 April, early afternoon)

The destruction of Theodore’s tree had been a relatively straight-forward operation, involving supervising the nervous tactical team as they packed the area underground with as much iron as possible, then retreating to a safe distance while a Tornado jet destroyed it with a Paveway bomb. A brief conversation with Steven had confirmed the Way had been closed, so they boarded the helicopter for the flight back to London.

“Oberon called this Way Theodore’s tree. Who is Theodore?”

“I have no idea.” Sherlock looked at him doubtfully, and Mycroft frowned. “Truly. When you made your original report, I reviewed the staff records very carefully and there was no one by that name connected with any of the projects.”

“What about the projects themselves? Any relevance there?”

“None that I can ascertain. They were all chemical research projects.”

“And you still haven’t determined what triggered the explosion? There’s no way a chemical explosion on the surface could have left a perfectly circular hole of that size through three floors of reinforced concrete. Whatever caused the surface explosion had to have originated down there.”

“Yes, I realize that, but nothing they were _authorized_ to do down there should have been able to create that hole. The security team managed to retrieve some samples, and there’s absolutely nothing to indicate what caused it. It’s as if the materials there simply ceased to exist.”

“Then someone was doing something unauthorized.”

“Obviously. The lower two floors were disused and the security at the project site was sadly lacking. The most likely explanation was that someone was researching some undisclosed private project. I’ve narrowed the potential suspects down to three scientists, all killed in the initial incident. I’ll send their files over.”

“If you’d like.”

“So, are you going to tell me the rest of the story, brother mine? You must know I realize you haven’t told me everything about your deal with Oberon.” Mycroft peered at Sherlock and took a calculated guess. “What did he want in return for his aid?”

“I told you. He wants me to serve as a kind of shield between the Fae and humanity.”

“Don’t play games with _me_ , Sherlock. What are you not telling me?”

“He required a sort of guarantee.” Sherlock frowned, not wanting to admit his mistake. “A penalty if I should fail him. Death required no guarantee from Mary because she didn’t need one, but Oberon’s Position doesn’t give him the authority to kill humans. I suspect his power over humans is very limited, so a magically binding oath was required.”

“Yet the fairies at the lab were able to kill.”

“Beings like Oberon or Death may be powerful, but Powers are limited by their Position. Death chose Mary over Greg, because she can’t affect a mortal before his time, while Mary, being a ghost, is within the power of her Position.”

“So, you’ve put your life on the line as a guarantee?”

“That was my intention. I think the information I’ve gained is well worth risking my life, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Mycroft sat in silence for a moment, contemplating his brother’s story. There was still something missing, something in the way he’d phrased things… “Intention. But not, perhaps, the result.”

“I can’t fail him”, he said softly.

“Then it’s something you value more than your life. Your intellect?”

“Is that truly what _you_ value most, Mycroft?”

“Don’t be stupid. Of course, it…” He looked over and met Sherlock’s gaze. “No. Not anymore, I’m afraid.”

“I won’t risk losing John’s love. We have weaknesses now, brother mine.”

“Do you regret it; being in love? Feeling?”

“Regret? What would be the point? There’s no going back for either of us, is there?”

“No. There isn’t.” Mycroft sighed, then a small, satisfied smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “He’s moving in with me.”

“I’m not surprised. You’re _obsessed_ with Greg.”

“Obviously. And you’re _addicted_ to John.”

“I’d think that goes without saying.”

\---

St. Bart’s Morgue: (19 April, mid-afternoon)

“Sherlock! I didn’t know you were stopping by.” She turned away from her microscope, smiling at him. “I thought you and John were going to L.A.”

“Not until later. I thought I’d stop by and introduce you to someone.” He reached behind his ear and held out his finger. Perched on it was a large blue butterfly, nervously fanning its wings.

“It’s looks like a Polyommatus Icarus, but it’s so big! It’s beautiful. Is this him; your fairy?”

“Yes. You’re close, but I believe the species he’s based on is Polyommatus Bellargus, the Adonis Blue. Steven, this is Molly. Do quit hiding and introduce yourself.” Molly watched, her big brown eyes round with amazement, as the butterfly shimmered and transformed into his fairy form.

“Molly. Steven.” The fairy studied her curiously for a moment, then flew off his finger, fluttering around her head a couple of times before landing on Sherlock’s shoulder. “Good.”

“He likes you. I thought you might do well with them. Steven, can you see any ghosts here?”

“No ghost. Echo. Dead things leave them. No ghost. No danger.”

“Interesting. He sees the remnants but doesn’t perceive them as ghosts.”

“He’s beautiful, Sherlock. Thanks for bringing him by.” When Sherlock had asked her to study the hive at Emily’s tree, she’d been nervous despite his assurance that they wouldn’t harm her. Seeing Steven reassured her, and she found herself now looking forward to her assignment. “He’s not at all like the ones Mycroft told us about. Did he get things sorted out with the hive in his backyard?”

“Yes, and I’d like you to study them as well for comparison.”

“Sure.” She looked curiously at the fairy, then at Sherlock’s left hand. “Is that a wedding band? Why is Steven wearing one around his neck?”

“For the jade; it was Mary’s idea. Ghosts are dangerously attracted to fairies, by the way.”

“Sherlock, I want you to know I’m happy for you and John. He’s a good man, and you seem… really happy.”

“I am, Molly. Thank you. Oh, did you know Greg’s moving in with Mycroft?”

“Already? I don’t really get it; those two, but I’ve never seen Greg so happy, and Mycroft seems more…”

“Human? It happens to the best of us.”

\---

221B Baker street: (19 April, late afternoon)

“Sherlock, what is all this? Don’t you have enough clothes already?” John shook his head, chuckling. Sherlock had come home with garment bags and a small pile of boxes, all emblazoned the names of popular designers; Dolce and Gabanna, Spencer Hart, Yves Saint Laurent and others.

“I love you, John.”

“I love you too…” John looked at the boxes, wincing. The shoes were _his_ size. “Dear God, please tell me you _didn’t.”_

“Think of it as costuming.”

“I’m not letting you dress me. That is _not_ happening.” John shuddered, picturing them in matching suits.

“It’s just for L.A.”

“You should let ‘im. He’s got loads better taste than you.” Bill rounded the corner from the kitchen, looking critically at John. “Are all yur shirts plaid?”

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with the way I dress! And I’m not taking fashion advice from a freeloader in a dirty hoodie.” John glared at Bill and turned to Sherlock. Steven was perched on his shoulder in butterfly form, hissing at Bill. “Good boy, Steven”, John muttered.

“I’m not a freeloader. I’ve got two more ghost jars made while you two were messin’ about.”

“Bill, go back in the kitchen. Steven, leave Bill alone. John, don’t encourage him.”

“It’s not dirty, it’s _stained_. There’s a difference.” Bill returned to the kitchen, grumbling as he went. “At least it’s not _plaid_.”

“Sherlock, what’s wrong with what I normally wear?”

“Nothing. Technically. John, if it were up to me, you’d just be naked all the time. Maybe a coat for outside…”

“That is actually more likely than me letting you dress me.”

“God, John, _why_ is this such a big deal! Is this one of those _not making decisions for_ _you_ things? I thought gifts were allowed. When you’re a couple.” He looked plaintively at John and flung himself into his chair with a long, dramatic sigh.

“Sherlock…” John sighed. “You have a certain style, and it looks good on you but it’s not my style.” He looked down, grabbing a random box and opening it. “I love you, but…” Inside was a dark blue pullover, almost the exact color of his eyes. “This is very nice, actually.”

“You like it? I thought you’d like it. I tried to get things you’d like, except you know, not plaid.”

“What is wrong with plaid?”

“Nothing. I like you in plaid. You were wearing it the day we met.”

“I was?”

“Why don’t we go in the bedroom, and you can just try a few things on.”

“Why don’t we go in the bedroom and take some things off?”

“Can’t we do both?”

“Yes, fine. But anything I don’t like goes right back to the store. Agreed?”

“Of course, John. You take all that in the bedroom, and I’ll get Steven settled for a while.”

John gathered up the garment bags and boxes and made his way to the bedroom. Sighing, he unzipped the first garment bag and was horrified for a moment, until he realized it wasn’t his size. Sherlock must have picked up a new suit for himself, a sleek, dark blue Spencer Hart. He wondered how much it’d cost and tried to picture him out shopping. He could barely get him to go by the grocer’s. It occurred to him that while Sherlock had always been well-dressed and had a closet filled with designer labels, he’d never actually seen evidence of him shopping for clothes.

“That one’s mine. The other one’s for you. Why are you still dressed?” Sherlock smiled and began shedding his own clothes.

“If there’s a matching suit in that bag, I’m probably going to set it on fire.” John grinned at him. “You know, I never really wondered, but how much do you spend on clothes? What does a suit like this cost, anyway?”

“I don’t know.” He curled up on the side of the bed, propping himself up on the pillows and looking at John with a sly smile. “Why are you still dressed?”

“How can you not know?” John pulled off his jumper and tossed it at Sherlock’s head, laughing. “What do you do, just walk in and say _I’ll have that_ without even looking at the price?”

“Just this once. Mycroft usually handles that kind of thing.”

“Your _brother_ picks out your clothes for you?” John picked up the blue pullover, marveling at the softness of it between his fingers. He set it aside, thinking he’d definitely be keeping this one.

“Of course not. Don’t be absurd. One of his minions does it… Anthea, I think.”

“Ever since I’ve known you? You and Mycroft weren’t even speaking when we met, but I don’t think I’ve even seen you in anything other than designer labels, except for a case.” He hung the bag with Sherlock’s suit in the closet, and reached for the other one, unzipping it dubiously.

“What’s that got to do with it?” He looked at John, puzzled. “Why does it matter, where they come from?”

“It doesn’t, I guess…” Inside the bag was a very fine grey suit with a matching waistcoat. It looked just as expensive as Sherlock’s but was very different in style. John had to admit, it looked like it would look good on him; like something he’d have picked for himself if he were the type to wear expensive suits. “This is really… I’m not sure how to feel about accepting it. I like it, it’s just… Sherlock, this must have been very expensive.”

“That doesn’t matter. It’s not _real_ money. Why are you not naked yet? You don’t really need to try any of it on. It’s all going to fit. Just lie with me, John. I need you naked, next to me.”

“Sherlock, what on earth does _not real money_ mean?” John hung the suit beside the other one and stacked the boxes on the floor.

“It comes out of my trust fund.” Sherlock watched John undress, eager to feel his body next to him.

“I didn’t know you had one. Why did you need a flat-mate, when you’ve got a trust fund?” He slipped into bed with Sherlock, who slid over and glued himself to John with a purr of satisfaction.

“Mmm… Much better.” He nuzzled John’s neck, breathing in his scent. “I don’t use it, is why. Mycroft cut me off from it years ago; in retrospect, probably a wise decision on his part at the time.” His hands roamed across John’s body, feeling the tension in his lover’s muscles. “Are you angry at me?”

“No, of course not. It’s just… I feel a bit uncomfortable, having you spend so much on me.”

“If it makes you uncomfortable we can send it all back, but it’s all coming out of an account that I never use and never intend to use. The only reason my wardrobe comes from it is that Mycroft insisted that I at least _look_ respectable.” His sky-grey eyes peered searchingly at John. “Are you sure that’s what’s really bothering you?”

“I… Sherlock, if I ask you something, will you promise to answer me truthfully?”

“Yes.”

“Do you… are you happy, with what we do? The sex, I mean, is it… enough?”

“Enough is a relative term, John. There might be times when I’ve had enough for the moment, but I’m going to want more later…”

“That’s not what I meant.” He stroked Sherlock’s cheek, and looked into his eyes. “Are you satisfied with it, what we do together?”

“Yes, John, I am. Do you regret what we did this morning?”, he asked softly.

“No. I think part of me regrets the fact that I _don’t_ have any regrets. I’d have never thought I’d enjoy doing that so much, but the truth is, it was a huge turn-on. But it did make me wonder about myself a bit… I’m still getting used to the idea that my lover’s a very beautiful, sexy _man_.”

“Are _you_ satisfied? Am I… enough?” Sherlock kept himself from trembling by sheer force of will, trying to suppress his fear that he wasn’t enough; that someday John would want a woman instead.

“Yes. God, yes. A million times, yes.” John leaned over, trying to kiss the worry from his lover’s eyes. “Don’t ever think you’re not. I just… I wanted to know if you wanted… more from me, sexually.”

“More? John, are you asking me if I want to top you?”

“I’m not _offering_ , I just… wondered what you really thought about not ever doing… that.”

“I don’t care. I’m… curious, naturally, but it doesn’t really matter to me what we do, as long as we’re doing it. Are _you_ curious?”

“No.” He knew the instant he said it that it wasn’t true. “Maybe a little”, he admitted reluctantly. “What does it feel like? You do like it, don’t you?”

“Yes, very much so. It feels… It’s a bit hard to describe. The orgasm’s different than with my cock, and I can describe how it feels physically, but there’s far more to it than just the physical for me. There _is_ a lot of physical pleasure, of course, but there’s a sense of surrender in it that makes me feel very… vulnerable, emotionally, and I think for me, that’s a big part of why I find it so erotic. I couldn’t do it if I didn’t trust you. Having you inside me, with our bodies joined like that… There’s a very intimate sense of connection, physically and emotionally. What’s it like for you, being inside me?”

“I… it’s hard to put into words for me too. Physically it’s very intense, and there’s that sense of connection for me as well. Beyond that, there’s the feeling of claiming you, of making you mine in a very literal way. It… it makes me feel… strong, I suppose.” He fell silent for a moment, thinking through a new revelation. “I think that’s why I’m so afraid of letting you top me. Because being the top makes me feel strong, so I’m afraid being the bottom would make me feel weak. I think I’m afraid to be that vulnerable, and I don’t want to be afraid. Not with you.”

“You’re already my weakness, John. I am vulnerable now, in ways I never was, because I’m in love with you. Having you inside me makes that vulnerability seem very precious to me.”

“I think I… I’m not sure I want to do it, or even if I can, but I think… I think I need to try.” He’d decided he’d been getting a little obsessed about worrying about it and facing his fear might be the best way to deal with it.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, I’m not sure. The only thing I’m sure about in all this is that I love you, and everything we’ve done up to now has been incredibly good. The first time, for you; didn’t it hurt? I tried to be gentle, but I’ve got to imagine it did.”

“It did a bit, but in a good way. I suppose it felt a bit odd at first, but honestly, I was too terrified to care. I was afraid I’d panic, John, or that my body wouldn’t respond as it should.” He smiled lovingly at him. “I’m not afraid anymore.”

“Let’s just try, then, and see what happens. Be patient; I might panic. I know this doesn’t sound very romantic, but I think I just need to just do this and get it over with.”

“I’ll be gentle, John.” Sherlock leaned over and kissed him, then began to work his way down his body, seeking one erogenous spot after another, until he reached his cock. John would usually have been hard by this point, but his fear had it at half-mast until the heat of Sherlock’s mouth engulfed it. Sherlock soon felt it hardening, until he could feel the crown pushing against the back of his throat. He kept pleasuring John until his lover was moaning, then slid back up his body, kissing him as one hand reached for the oil. “Roll over on your knees, John. I want to be able to reach your cock.”

“Sherlock, I… I’m afraid.”

“Shh, my love. There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s just us making love, and I’ll stop if you tell me to.” Sherlock kept his voice soft, not wanting to let John know how much he suddenly wanted inside him. He poured the oil on the palm of his hand, warming it as he gently encouraged his lover into position.

John’s body tensed as he felt Sherlock behind him, his warm, slick fingers sliding across his cheeks and slowly parting them. He gasped, trembling under Sherlock’s touch as he felt his fingers teasing at his opening. A sense of panic rose in him, and he fought the urge to run. He closed his eyes, his body tensing instinctively as Sherlock’s finger gently probed the hole.

“Relax and push against it. Breath, John; it’s alright.” His other hand caressed John’s cock, and he smiled, pleased but not entirely surprised to find him still hard despite his fear. He waited until he felt John pushing against him, then slid one finger in, waiting for John’s body to adjust to the sensation before slowly pushing it deeper, seeking his prostrate. John’s eyes suddenly opened, pupils wide, and Sherlock knew he’d found it.

John felt a flash of heat go through him, and he felt slightly dizzy as both fear and pleasure flooded his body. He moaned softly as he felt his lover’s finger sliding in and out of his body, caressing him, and he began to slowly relax. A brief flash of pain went through him as Sherlock slipped a second finger in and he tensed for an instant. It felt strange and intrusive, but it also felt good, and he tried to focus on the pleasure as his lover began to open him slowly. The feeling of oddness faded as desire began to take over. Soon, John’s body arched into his touch, and Sherlock knew he was ready. A strange, unexpected sense of emptiness went through John as his fingers slipped out. Sherlock positioned himself behind him, stroking John’s cock as he pressed the head of his against his lover’s opening.

John could feel his heart pounding in rhythm with the pulsing of his cock. He whimpered in need and confusion as Sherlock pushed inside him, slowiy sinking himself into John’s body. Another flash of pain and panic went through him, quickly fading as Sherlock’s hand stroked his cock. After giving John’s muscles time to adjust to him, Sherlock began to move, gently making love to him as he sought the perfect angle for John’s pleasure. His lover moaned his name, and he knew he’d found it. Being inside someone was a pleasure Sherlock had never known, and he struggled against his own body’s urges, forcing himself to seek John’s pleasure first. As John’s body began to tremble, he picked up the pace of his movements, biting his lip to keep from cumming.

“Oh, God, Sherlock!” John’s body bucked wildly, seeking to pump himself into Sherlock’s hand while his hips thrust back, impaling his lover’s cock deep inside him. Waves of intense pleasure crashed into him, over and over, as Sherlock’s cock slid across his prostate, and he could feel his balls tightening as he wavered on the edge of a powerful double orgasm.

Sherlock felt the flush of heat and goosepimples rising on John’s skin as he began to climax, and he let his own body follow, wanting them to orgasm together. He felt John’s cum, erupting slick and hot on his hand. They both cried out each other’s names as Sherlock’s orgasm followed, filling John’s body with his seed.

Sherlock laid beside him, leaning over to capture John’s lips for a kiss and looking into his eyes, searching for any signs of guilt or shame and finding none. Still gasping for breath, John smiled at him, pulling his head down for another kiss.

“Good God…”, John panted. “That… that was just… incredible.”

“Yes, it was.” Sherlock snuggled against him, smiling contentedly. _“You_ are incredible, John.”

“I can’t believe… how amazing it was.” He thought back to the waves of pleasure that he’d felt, so unlike any he’d ever known. He’d known orgasming through prostate massage was possible and he’d seen Sherlock in its throes, but he’d never dreamed how good it could be.

“No regrets, then?”

“The only regret I feel is letting myself get so… obsessed with worrying about it. I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Greg’s right. What we do in bed together doesn’t make either of us any less of a man.”

“Did you really think it would?”

“I did, at first. I panicked a bit, today, after I gave you that blowjob.”

“I was afraid you might.” He looked at John curiously. “Did it make you think less of me, the first time I did it?”

“No, God no. If anything, I was just floored by it. That thing you do, the swallowing trick; it really is wonderful.” He rolled over, propping himself up on one elbow. “From now on, Sherlock, no more rules. It’s just you and me, doing what we feel like.”

“Well, I would like to keep the _one_ rule, about you being naked in bed…”

“Alright.” John laughed. “One rule, then. But to be fair, you should have to follow it too.”

“Agreed.” Sherlock scooted closer, pressing his body against John’s and luxuriating in the addictive sensation of John’s skin against his.

\---


	10. Addicted to You

Challenger’s Jet, Gulfstream G650: (19 April, early evening)

John had grumbled the whole way to the airport, dreading the long flight and all the little nuisances and indignities that went with air travel. Sherlock had spent most of his time texting on his mobile, grinning while John complained, right until they pulled into Farnborough Airport.

“I thought Farnborough was mostly business flights. _Where_ are we going?” The car Mycroft had sent for them pulled right onto the tarmac, heading towards a large, sleek Gulfstream jet with upswept wings and the letters TLC emblazoned on its tail.

“We’re going to L.A., John.” Sherlock smiled slightly, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“I know _that_ , but what about customs and security?”

“It’s a private jet, John. It’s not required.”

“You chartered a private jet?” John stared at the gleaming, 30-meter-long plane in astonishment.

“No. Look at the _tail_ , John.”

“TLC…?”

“Thomas Laurence Challenger.”

“Christ, how rich is he anyway?”

“Around sixteen billion pounds, give or take.”

“Billion. Sixteen _Billion_. Christ, I knew he was rich, but I had no idea it was _that_ much.” His amazement didn’t lessen as they boarded the plane. It was gorgeously appointed, with a wide, luxuriously furnished interior, a double galley kitchen, a full bar and a private bedroom. There was even a shower room. “Good lord”, he muttered. “This is bigger than our flat.”

“There’s a private chef, if you’re hungry.”

“Of course, there is.” John sank into the white leather chair and grinned. “We can join the Mile-High Club.”

“I was planning on it.” Sherlock smiled slyly, deciding to keep the fact that the phrase only applied to sex on commercial flights to himself.

After take-off, they shared a light meal while Steven flitted excitedly around the cabin, landing occasionally to nibble at the biscuits and milk Sherlock had laid out for him. By the end of the meal, John was yawning, and Steven had fallen asleep, nestled behind Sherlock’s ear. They made their way to the bedroom, and Sherlock gently moved the little fairy onto his shirt, which he’d folded on the dresser to as a make-shift bed for him. He and John stripped their clothes off and slid into bed. Cuddling together, John soon fell asleep.

John woke some hours later to the sensation of his still-sleeping lover’s cock, prodding against his arse cheek. He lay there a while, sorting out how he felt about having let him top him. He was more than a little shocked by how much he’d enjoyed it, but the orgasm had been incredible. He’d expected it to hurt, and it had to some extent, but he now understood what Sherlock had meant about it being a good kind of pain.

He’d been right about there being a psychological element as well, and that had frightened John far more than any worry he’d had about pain. He’d been worried that he’d feel somehow demeaned by the act, but he didn’t. It hadn’t made him feel weak, or any less of a man. In fact, he realized he felt stronger somehow, and had an odd, unexpected sense of freedom, as if some barrier in his psyche he didn’t even know existed had been broken down.

His old fears felt silly to him now, and he realized he’d probably had some level of physical attraction to other men in the past that he’d just never let himself acknowledge. He could even see why he’d repressed those desires. It wasn’t due to some long-forgotten traumatic event, but a series of small things: a half-remembered friend from early childhood who’d been ruthlessly bullied for being too effeminate, the bigoted attitude of his father, the jokes told by boys at school, even his sister’s coming out… so many things, each one adding another brick to the wall he’d built to hide the truth from himself. He’d always had women in his life, and so those desires had lain dormant until Sherlock had come into his life.

It felt strange coming to this realization so late in life, but he now had no qualms about identifying himself as bisexual. Sherlock was still the only man he wanted, but the idea that he might notice an attractive man in the same way he noticed a beautiful woman didn’t seem so unthinkable anymore. It didn’t lessen or change the incredible love and devotion he felt for Sherlock. If anything, he was even more in love with him and very grateful that he’d been the one to lead him to this self-realization. For the first time in his life, John felt entirely comfortable in his own skin, and it felt good.

Sherlock lay spooned against John, incredibly aroused and pretending to be asleep. He felt a bit out of control. Mycroft had been as right about him as he had been about his brother. He was addicted to John as surely as Mycroft was obsessed with Greg. He wondered vaguely if Mycroft had proposed to Greg yet. It seemed likely, knowing how Mycroft generally acted when he became obsessed.

John was an addiction in a category all its own. Sherlock had taken a measure of pride in managing his addictions to the point where he could classify them as controlled usage. He could put down the drugs and walk away when he wanted; when there was an interesting experiment to preform or a case to occupy his ever-restless mind. There was no such thing as controlled usage for him with John. The game still excited him as much as it ever had, but despite the anticipation and challenge a meeting with Lucifer represented, he realized a part of him would rather spend the whole time like this; naked, pressed against John’s skin, breathing in his scent.

He’d loved this man for a long time, with a depth and fierceness whose intensity still frightened him at times. He’d been able to control it when he’d thought his passion wasn’t returned. Now he’d have to depend on John, and on Mary, to keep him on point. Having John was almost as distracting as not having him had become. Sherlock had never known this kind of happiness, and it was both terrifying and intoxicating. He laid there, enjoying the ache of need as his cock pressed against John’s warm skin.

John pushed back against Sherlock’s cock, and the heat of desire went through them both. He rolled over, pressing their hips together and rubbing his cock against his lover’s. Sherlock’s eyes opened as he leaned in for a kiss. They laid there, kissing and caressing each other until they were almost frenzied with need.

“Do you have the oil?”

“Which one of us is it for?”, Sherlock asked, smiling playfully.

“I don’t care.” John grinned with pure joy. “You choose this time.”

“Then I choose everything. Let’s just do everything, John.” 

John laughed and slid down Sherlock’s body, teasing his cock with his lips and tongue until he begged John to suck him. He happily complied, wrapping his hand around the base and taking it into his mouth as far as he could, pushing the limits of what he could take in with each downward movement of his head. By the time Sherlock was approaching orgasm, his own cock was throbbing. Sherlock cried out his name, filling his lover’s mouth with cum and John swallowed the hot fluid eagerly, relishing the bitter-savory taste on his tongue.

He rolled over, drawing Sherlock in for a kiss before his lover returned the favor, teasing and licking his way down John’s body. His tongue slid across the underside of his cock as he swallowed him, lips locked around the base as his talented throat muscles contracted around the crown. John gasped as slick fingers caressed his balls, then teased their way across the smooth skin behind them. He parted his legs, raising his hips so Sherlock’s fingers could reach his opening. There was no fear now, just anticipation. As the first one slid in, caressing his prostate, he grabbed Sherlock’s hair and cried out his name. Sherlock ground his cock against John’s leg, urging his own flesh back to hardness. He drew out John’s pleasure as long as he could, fucking his fingers gently into him, caressing his prostate as he sucked him. By the time John came, erupting in his mouth and screaming his name, Sherlock was desperate to be inside him.

He quickly spread some oil on his cock, taking position on top of his lover and slowly pressing through the tight ring of muscle until his entire length was buried inside him. He leaned down, drawing him in for a kiss as John’s legs circled around him, seeking to drive him in deeper. Sherlock quickly found the right angle for this new position, and John cried out his name again as his lover’s cock slid across his prostate. John’s cock began to harden again as Sherlock caressed it, and he lunged his hips upward, thrusting into his hand as his lover thrust into him. He moaned in pleasure as Sherlock fucked him, babbling his name as waves of ecstasy overtook him.

Still hard, Sherlock pulled out of John, reaching back to pull out _the object_ before he mounted his cock. He sighed with pleasure as he slowly sank down, impaling himself. John rolled him over with a growl, pulling out long enough to turn him over and pull him to his knees. He plunged back in, fucking in-and-out of his body. His hand circled Sherlock’s cock, pumping in rhythm with his movements as he pounded furiously into him. Sherlock came hard, hot fluids spilling over John’s hand as he cried out his name. John’s arms circled around him, keeping him in place until his own orgasm took him. He came with a roar, driving his cock deep into his lover’s body. The two fell in a sticky, sweat-drenched heap, looking lovingly into each other’s eyes and gasping for breath.

“I love you so much, Sherlock.” John leaned in, kissing him and caressing his cheek. Sherlock was smiling, his eyes glowing with love, and John marveled again at the sheer beauty of his lover.

“I love you, John Watson.” Sherlock kissed him back, then nibbled at his neck, enjoying the salty taste of his skin and drinking in his scent. He looked at him curiously. “Sex with you is always fantastic. Is sex usually that good?”

“It’s _never_ been this good.” John grinned. “You are the best lover in the entire history of sex.”

From his perch on the dresser, Steven had watched the two, pondering the mysteries of human mating. For the Fae, gender was a fluid thing and it had seemed a nearly incomprehensible thing to him that humans only seemed to have two. Fairies had five distinctly different gender modes and were capable of transforming between them as they desired. It seemed very limiting to him but the two humans seemed to be able to give each other pleasure, and he supposed that was all that mattered. It was reassuring to him to see his hive-kings had a strong bond.

Oblivious to their tiny observer, they cuddled there together for a while, then made their way to the shower, lovingly washing each other’s bodies. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, enjoying the feeling of his soap-slick skin against his own.

“You really _are_ insatiable.” John grinned, looking down at Sherlock’s rapidly-growing erection. “I can’t believe you’re already hard again, after all that.”

“It’s your fault, John.”, he said teasingly. “See what you’ve done to me.”

“My fault? Then I suppose I should do something about it.” He grinned, looking ruefully at his own cock, which was still soft from their recent lovemaking, and gently pushed his lover against the wall as he kissed and nibbled his way down to his cock. Sherlock moaned softly, twining his fingers in John’s wet hair as he knelt in front of him. John wrapped his hand around the base of Sherlock’s cock, and parted his lips, slowly and sensually blowing him until his lover was begging for release. He picked up the pace of his movements until he came, erupting down John’s throat with a loud, inarticulate cry.

“You’re getting exceptionally good at that.” Sherlock smiled and sank down beside him as John drew him into a kiss.

“With your libido, I imagine I’ll be getting a lot of practice.”

Eventually, they made their way back to the bedroom to dress. John donned the new suit Sherlock had bought him, thinking he did look very sharp in it. He turned to his lover, and whatever he’d been about to say about it evaporated from his mind. Sherlock had somehow found a shirt that matched his eyes perfectly, a soft grey that shimmered blue-green in the light. John wondered how he’d gone so long without noticing how gorgeous this man was.

Steven chirped approvingly from the dresser. Fairies wore little in the way of clothing, and most human clothing seemed very drab to him, but he liked the way the shirt his Hive-King wore changed color in the light.

“Oh dear Lord.” John flushed with embarrassment. “I forget he was there. Do you think he… watched us?”

“Why would it matter if he did? The Fae take a very different view of sexuality. To them, it’s a way to express joy and reinforce bonds within their hive. I imagine if he did, he found it comforting to see his hive-mates are happy with each other.” Sherlock chuckled. “I imagine he was curious. He doesn’t really understand human concepts of gender. They’re entirely gender fluid. I had a bit of trouble explaining that neither of us was the Queen. Most hives have a Queen and a King, not two Kings, but I think perhaps he’s decided Mary’s our Queen.”

“It’s still a bit disconcerting”, John grumbled. “But at least he doesn’t think I’m your Queen. That would be a bit much.”

Sherlock laughed as they returned to the main cabin for dinner. After settling Steven with a saucer of cream and some biscuits, the two began discussing their plans for later in the evening. Sherlock picked at his food, wondering if he’d made a mistake in bringing John to his meeting with the Devil.

“John, I want to talk to you about Lucifer. I’m… uncertain about you accompanying me.”

“I’ve come all this way. I’m not going to back out now. Do I think we should just turn the plane around and go home? Yes. But I know you’re not going to do that; _the game is on_ , and my place is by your side, regardless of the danger.”

“Then be very careful, and as much as possible, keep your mouth shut.” Sherlock sighed when John looked at him, obviously hurt.

“I’m not stupid, you know”, he grumbled unhappily.

“Did I say you were?” It occurred to him he’d better amend that statement. “Just now, I mean. Oberon can weave magic with words, and if Lucifer can do the same, I’d feel… safer if you didn’t engage him any more than necessary.” He reached out, lightly stroking John’s cheek. “You’re my pressure point, John. I don’t want him using you against me.”

“I understand that, but considering how things went with Oberon, I think it’s better that I be there, since you’re so determined to meet with him. I don’t want you getting so caught up in trying to match wits with him that you end up literally losing your soul… or anything else for that matter, considering you were flirting with him online.”

“I’m not going to have sex with him, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He replied somewhat snappishly, still stung that he’d been out-witted by Oberon.

“I’m worried because he’s the Devil, and I think that meeting up with the Prince of Darkness is a very bad idea. He’s the living incarnation of evil.”

“I’m not sure that’s true. Remember the assurances he demanded of Thomas? Why would an evil being demand he not kill? If he were evil, then why would he care? And why exact a promise that he wouldn’t create more vampires?”

“I don’t know. There’s a lot we don’t know, and I realize that’s _why_ you feel you have to meet him, but I’m not letting you face the Devil alone.”

“Just don’t make any assumptions, John. He may or may not be evil. We can’t base our assumptions on what’s written about him, and I suspect he wouldn’t be welcome in the Court of Oberon if he were evil.”

“I’m not so sure Oberon’s not evil. He tricked you, after all.”

“He distrusts humans and considering what I know of humanity, he’s not unwise to do so. He needed some assurance that I wouldn’t use my knowledge of the Fae against them. What happened… it’s my fault, not his. I took the oath too literally. I’m not used to factoring in my feelings, and the Fae are very empathic. I am… sorry, John.”

“I know.” He glanced up sympathetically. Admitting he was wrong was never easy for Sherlock, and he appreciated how difficult this had all been for him. “I know it must have been hard for you, letting yourself love me”, he said softly.

“I could say the same of you. We’ve both had to change how we look at ourselves. I know it’s been difficult for you, letting yourself make love with a man. I think you’ve been remarkably strong throughout all of this, and I’m deeply grateful for it.”

“I’m the one that should be grateful. I was just thinking about it earlier, and I’ve realized something about myself. I am bisexual. I see that now. For the first time in my life, I’m truly comfortable with who I am, and I have you to thank for that. I never would have had the courage to admit it to myself if it weren’t for your love.” He smiled tenderly at Sherlock. “I love you, and I’m happier than I’ve ever been before.”

\---

Restaurant: (19 April, mid-evening)

“Greg, a certain situation has arisen that I think I should prepare you for.” Mycroft took another sip of wine and frowned unhappily. “My parents are coming for a visit soon”, he said mournfully.

“I’m guessin’ they don’t know about us yet?” Greg looked over sympathetically at his lover, thinking that they both had difficult relationships with their families.

“No. Have you met them?”

“Once, briefly, when I was droppin’ a case off at Baker street. Are you gonna tell them?”

“I don’t see how I can avoid it. It really is going to be dreadful.”

“Yeah, I gotta be honest. I wouldn’t even tell my Dad if it weren’t for my brother, who’s a right bastard, by the way.”

“Yes. Family can be very trying.” He sighed, thinking that very trying was a vast understatement. “I anticipate that having both sons come out to them at once isn’t going to go well.”

“I can see how it might not. How do you wanna handle it? Do you want me there?”

“I’m… torn on that issue. Knowing my little brother as I do, I expect he’ll have John with him. I find I want you there for my sake, and don’t want you there for yours.”

“That’s really sweet, but I’ll be there for you. I been through this before, with my family.”

“Then they already know you’re bisexual?”

“Sorta. I came out years ago when I was with Jack, but Dad decided I was cured once I got married. He’s not gonna be happy, but he’ll get over it eventually. Tony’s just gonna be a prick about it.”

“Do you want me there, when you tell them?”

“Hell, no. With Dad, it’s best I tell him alone. Tony, I’m just gonna call, or it’s gonna be a row. Probably end up punchin’ him out again.” He frowned, remembering the scene at his wedding, which had included an insulting speech from his brother, filled with homophobic references to Greg, that had ended in Tony being carried out. “He’s a real piece of work, Tony is.”

“At least there won’t be violence when we tell my parents, but I expect Mummy will be quite… difficult.”

“What about your Dad?”

“With Mummy there, he will probably tow the party line, but I expect he’ll be far more disappointed in Sherlock than in me. I think he gave up on any ambitions he might have had for grandchildren long ago as far as I’m concerned.”

“Yeah. At least with my Dad, he’s already got that. Tony’s got three kids. But hey, now that John and Sherlock are together, your folks are gettin’ a grandkid.”

“I suppose they are, in a way, though they may not accept her as such.”

“Be a shame. She’s a beautiful little girl.” He grinned. “And I guess that makes her our niece.”

“I never really thought about it. I’m not very comfortable around children.”

“I love children. I always wanted to have kids, but it just never worked out.” Greg shrugged. “It’s probably for the best. With my job, I wouldn’t have had the kind of time to give that they need.”

“I really can’t even imagine that sort of life.” Mycroft smiled lovingly at him, and reached across the table, covering Greg’s hand with his. “I thought I’d grow old alone. It took _you_ to show me I wasn’t alone, I was _lonely_. Now all I want is to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“I feel the same way, Mycroft. What you said this mornin’; I’ve needed you all my life too.” Greg’s smile lit up his whole face, and he turned his hand, clasping Mycroft’s. His lover was slowly beginning to be more comfortable with showing physical affection outside of bed, and seeing him do it in public felt good. “I’ve been in a lot of relationships, but you and me, we’ve got somethin’ special.”

\---

Mycroft’s bedroom: (19 April, evening)

“Greg, I… You know I’m not good at expressing my feelings. I’m not used to feelings; especially deep feelings, like I have for you.” Mycroft leaned back against his chest as Greg unbuttoned his shirt. He moaned softly as Greg’s hands slid under his vest, caressing his skin, teasing his nipple with his thumb.

“Yeah, but you’re getting good at showin’ it.” Greg leaned in to kiss his lover’s neck as his hands traveled downward, unbuttoning his trousers. “I know you love me, Mycroft.”

“And I know you feel the same about me. But you can say it, and I _can’t_. It makes me wonder if I have the right to… to be with you.” He moaned again as Greg unzipped his trousers, sliding his hand inside and caressing him through his pants.

“I wanna be with you. That’s all the right you need, lover.” He slipped Mycroft’s trousers down, kissing his way down his body as he knelt to remove them.

“I don’t know why you do, but I’m thankful for it.” Mycroft hung up his trousers and turned into his lover’s embrace.

“I wanna be with you because I love you.” Greg pulled him into a kiss, then nibbled at his ear. “I love you because you’re sexy.” He moved to the shivery spot behind his ear, sucking gently at the skin. “And brilliant. You’re a good man, Mycroft Holmes, and I’m damn lucky to have you.”

“I’m not a good man, Greg. There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”

“Whatever it is, I know you’re a good man.” Greg led him into the bedroom, pulling off their underclothes and tossing them into the hamper. “I just wish you could see that.”

“I have secrets, Greg.” Mycroft let his lover lead him to bed and lay down beside him.

“I know that.” Greg smiled, caressing his cheek. “You always will. I knew that goin’ in to this.”

“If you knew some of the things I’ve done…”

“Mycroft, I know good-and-well what you do for a living. Sometimes, somebody’s got to make the hard choices. That’s one of the things that tells me you’re a good man. Somebody’s gotta be the one to carry the secrets. That’s your job, and you do it well. You carry a lotta weight on your shoulders, and you do it with style. Do you not get that I trust you, the way you trust me?”

“Greg, there’s something that I want to ask you, but I don’t know if I should. I don’t know if I have the right, or if it’s too soon…”  He hesitated, trembling as Greg drew him into his arms.

“Just ask”, Greg said softly. He had a good idea what Mycroft was about to ask, and he hoped he was right.

“Will you…” He drew in a deep breath, gathering his courage as he looked into Greg’s eyes. “Greg, if you’ll have me, I would be deeply honored… Will you marry me?”

“Yes. In three months, if you still want me, I’d be honored to marry you. Forever with you is all I want.” Greg smiled happily and pulled him into a passionate kiss, his hands roaming across Mycroft’s body. Forever with this man in his arms was more than he’d ever dreamt of. “Make love to me, Mycroft.” He could feel his lover’s cock, pressing eagerly against his own. “Show me how much you want me.”

“What do you want me to do to you?” Mycroft smiled playfully as he nibbled Greg’s ear.

“I want you inside me. I want you to claim my body with your cock. Make love to me, Mycroft. You think you’re ready to try that?”

“Yes, I… I think I _am_.” Fucking someone reminded him of _The Incident,_ and previously the thought had repulsed him, but the idea of claiming his lover’s body was now very compelling. Greg truly _wanted_ him inside him, and Mycroft suddenly realized that he wanted inside Greg just as badly. He reached over, grabbing the bottle of oil from the nightstand. Greg rolled over, arching his arse into the air as Mycroft’s oil-slicked fingers slid between his cheeks, caressing his opening.

Greg moaned, a low soft rumble of desire, as his lover slipped a finger inside him. By the time the second finger slipped in, he was panting with need. Mycroft leaned forward, kissing him deeply, then knelt behind him, pressing his cock against his hole. He slowly pushed himself in, groaning with pleasure as the thick head plunged through the tight ring of muscle.

“Oh, _yeahhh_ …”, Greg growled, eyes glittering with love and lust. He embraced the intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure as Mycroft sheathed his long, thick cock deep inside him. It’d been a long time since he’d had a lover that was so well-endowed, and he realized how much he’d missed the sensation. Mycroft began to fuck him, gently at first, then harder as his lover urged him on. Greg liked it hard and rough, and his hands dug into the sheets. He groaned with pleasure as his lover’s flesh pounded into his body.

Mycroft’s natural reticence was washed away by the surge of ecstasy as his cock plunged in-and-out of Greg’s tight, hot flesh. All reticence was gone, replaced by the frenzied need to claim the man he adored as he thrust himself hard and deep into his body. What little self-control he had left was entirely devoted to holding off his orgasm, wanting to prolong the pleasure of taking him, wanting to feel him come with his cock inside him.

“God, yessss…”, Greg moaned. He cried out his lover’s name as he came without cumming, pleasure crashing over him in waves as the thick head of Mycroft’s cock slid across his prostate.

“Oh God, Greg!” Mycroft drove himself in a deep as he could, cumming as his lover writhed in ecstasy beneath him. He finally collapsed on the bed beside Greg, panting for breath. His lover rolled over, leaning in to kiss him. Mycroft looked over at Greg’s still hard cock and smiled.

“My turn, now?”, he gasped, handing Greg the bottle of oil.

“Yeah, lover.” Greg grinned happily and kissed him again, thinking their engagement was getting off to a damn good start.

\---

Foulness: (19 April, late evening)

On the first of February, after months of working in secret in the dank, neglected underground lab, Vincent Nemor had finally completed his life’s work. For almost one hundred years, the secret of his ancestor’s invention had been passed down from father to son, but none had possessed the genius needed to reproduce it until now, though some had tried. Finally the moment had come.

He’d paused briefly, contemplating the greatness that would soon be his. The world would be at his feet, for he would soon have a weapon at his command that would make even the hydrogen bomb obsolete. Built at the proper scale and launched into orbit, it would disintegrate whole cities; nations even, and leave behind it a vast and barren landscape or reintegrate them at his whim. This small prototype would be the first step on his pathway to world domination.

He’d thought it was a great shame that no one but him would see this world changing moment, but he was wrong. In a realm far away, another being looked into a scrying pool and smiled. Even through the seal, he’d been able to keep just the tiniest bit of connection to the Earthly realm. He’d waited patiently, watching for his opportunity. He reached his powers out, using the last of his Earthly magic to make a minute creature do his bidding. Things would go awry in perfect precision.

Nemor had calculated the refraction of the crystal perfectly. He struggled to lift the test object onto the platform and then stepped over to the final lever, pulling it down with a sense of satisfaction. He’d calculated the path of the beam perfectly, so that it would strike the crystal prism at the precise angle to reflect it to the platform. With his mind filled with dreams of glory, he never noticed the large, transparent spider web that now stretched between the crystal prism and the platform, refracting the beam in unexpected ways. There was a sudden flash of light, and his sense of satisfaction dissolved into disorientation as he and everything around him dissolved into mist.

On the other realm, the entity began to laugh with pure joy. After over 3,000 years, the seal had been cracked. He would soon be free of his dreary existence in this frozen wasteland; free to return to the Earthly realm and finally have some fun. He just had to be patient a little while longer, and let things take the course he’d set into motion. Magic would soon return to Earth in full force. Though they were lesser beings, the realms had been so much more amusing when humans wielded magic.

Since the accident, Nemor had lain dormant and only partially aware, pinned between worlds by the magic of the Way, but now that it was destroyed, he was free. Slowly congealing into an oily, vaguely man-shaped mist, the creature once known as Vincent Nemor slowly seeped from the crater where the destroyed lab had been.

The tatters of its once brilliant mind hungered, yearning for completeness. It instinctively sought what it had sensed earlier; two brightly luminous minds among many dim ones. The pale sunlight had kept it at bay, hiding in the shadows, and now that night had fallen, they were gone. It paused, trying to track them like a hound catching a scent on the wind. One was lost to it; the distance was too great, but it could sense the other, far away. It flowed across the fog-shrouded landscape, making its way toward London.

\---

Lux nightclub, L.A.: (a little past midnight, L.A time)

The loud, lively dance music stopped abruptly in mid-song as a tall, strikingly handsome, dark-haired man seated himself at a grand piano. Lucifer Morningstar sat his drink down on the piano and the crowd suddenly fell silent as the first notes rang out. The song had a poignant, melancholy tune that seemed familiar to John, but he couldn’t quite place it. Something in the man’s voice tore at John’s heart, something lonely and bittersweet, tinted with a sense of profound, quiet anger and loss. He thought of Sherlock, and what his own life would have been like if he’d really died.

_“What I’ve felt, what I’ve known, never shined through what I’ve shown. Never free, never me, so I dub thee unforgiven…”_

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the sudden, unnatural silence of the crowd. There was magic at work here. He could feel the music, piercing the walls of his mind palace like rays of light, threatening to drag an emotional response from him. He closed his eyes and concentrated, pushing against it with his mind as he’d tried to do with Oberon, and the feeling stopped. He scanned the room, watching the people around him. Lucifer had been an angel once, and the power of his voice was evident in their reactions. No one spoke, no one moved, mobiles went ignored and drinks untouched. The song seemed to have a different emotional effect on everyone, as if the words spoke to something deeply personal to each of them. He glanced at John and saw tears rolling unnoticed down his face.

 _“You labeled me, I’ll label you, so I’ll dub thee unforgiven. Never free, never me, so I dub thee unforgiven_ …” Lucifer rose as the last notes on the piano rang out. There was an instant of silence as he walked away, and then the dance music began again, an energetic techno remake of _Sympathy for the Devil_.

John wiped the tears from his face and reached out instinctively, putting his arm around Sherlock and drawing him closer. Whatever John had expected his first encounter with the Lord of Hell would be like, this wasn’t it. He shook his head, trying to clear away the haze of emotion.

“Dear Lord…” he said softly, glancing up at Sherlock.

“Not quite. That was magic, John.”

“Yes, it was. I don’t think I’ve even been so moved by a song… wait. You meant that _literally_ , didn’t you?”

“Obviously. A room full of jaded club-goers falling silent is proof enough of that, let alone your own emotional reaction. He’s very powerful, John. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay here while I meet with him?”

“Absolutely not. I already told you that. I didn’t come all this way with you to let you face the Devil alone.” John’s grip tightened around him for emphasis. “That is not happening.”

“Hey, what can I get you guys?” The bartender stepped over, smiling at them.

“I’m Sherlock Holmes. I’m here to see Mr. Morningstar.”

“Hang on. I’ll see if he’s taking visitors tonight.” The man stepped away, made a quick call on his mobile and then stepped back over, directing them to the short flight of stairs to right of the bar. “Take the elevator straight up to the penthouse. He says come up whenever you’d like.”

“Steel yourself, John.” Sherlock turned to him as they reached the lift. “And stay quiet.”

\---

Lucifer’s penthouse, Lux nightclub, L.A.: (a little past midnight, L.A. time)

John stepped into the penthouse behind Sherlock, gasping. He had a brief impression of a dimly lit, luxurious, modern flat, and he was vaguely aware of the amber-lit bar to his left, but it was the sight of their host that commanded his attention. When Greg had told him that he might look up someday and notice a man other than Sherlock was hot, John had never thought it’d be the Devil.

In the center of the room, bathed in light, was another grand piano. Seated at the bench was their host, Lucifer Morningstar, the Lord of Hell. He was mesmerizingly beautiful. A large pair of shimmering white wings extended from the back of his white tailored shirt and black silk waistcoat. He looked over at his guests with soulful mahogany eyes that were almost as dark as his thick raven hair and smiled. It seemed to John that Lucifer’s eyes had lingered on Sherlock for an uncomfortably long time, and he felt a pang of jealousy.

“Hello, gentlemen. Make yourselves comfortable somewhere.” He downed the rest of his drink and stepped to the bar, reaching across the gleaming wood to grab a couple of glasses. “Join me in a drink?” He picked up the bottle of Macallan Rare Cask that sat on the bar, refilling his own glass as he poured theirs.

“Thank you for meeting with us, Mr. Morningstar.” Sherlock took a seat at the bar and John sank down on the black leather, high-backed barstool beside him, utterly incapable of not staring at Lucifer. Sherlock glared over at John, his eyes narrowing in warning. “This is my boyfriend, Dr. John Watson.”

“You weren’t so formal online, Sherlock. Call me Lucifer.” He leaned closer to Sherlock, smiling. “So, tell me, detective, what is your greatest desire?”

Sherlock felt the increasingly familiar sense of magic pushing against his mind. He pushed back, gritting his teeth and stilling his tongue.

“Oh, a complicated one! You _are_ interesting.” His smile broadened, spreading to his eyes, and he glanced over at John. “How about you, Doctor? What’s _your_ greatest desire?”

“I want to be with Sherlock forever.” John blurted out, compelled to answer.

“How sweet you are.” He turned his attention back to Sherlock. “It doesn’t matter that you didn’t answer. I know addiction when I see it.”

“I’d expect nothing less of you. How unusual is it for a mortal to resist answering?”

“Uncommon, but not unheard of. Occasionally one runs across a more complicated soul.”

“Is intelligence relevant to an individual’s ability to resist?”

“Only to the extent that the stupid ones are rarely complicated.” He laughed softly and poured himself another glass of scotch. “Then again, some of the simplest humans I’ve known have been considered geniuses.”

“Will you help us, Lucifer? I need to understand what kind of situation we’re dealing with, once the seal is completely broken.”

“Why should I? What’s in it for me?”

“What do you want?” Sherlock asked softly. “My soul?”

“I’d think you’d know better than to judge someone by what the _tabloids_ say about them, Sherlock. I’m not in the business of acquiring souls. Your _body_ , on the other hand, might do quite nicely. I’m bored. Spend the night with me and I’ll give you textbooks to read instead of tabloids. You could be the supreme sorcerer of your age, if you have the gift for it. You can even bring your boyfriend if you’d like.” He grinned at John. “The more, the merrier.”

“That’s not going to happen.” John growled, downing another sip of his scotch and half-rising from his seat.

“While that’s an extraordinarily flattering offer, I’m afraid I must decline.” He reached back and grabbed John’s thigh, pinning him in place. “I think you’d find me disappointing.”

“And why is that, detective?”

“I highly doubt I’m even capable of sexual arousal with anyone other than John.”

“That sounds a bit like a challenge.” He leaned over, grinning at John. “What about you, John? Do you desire me?”

“Yes.” John flushed red and his eyes filled with guilt, but he hadn’t been able to resist answering. For a moment, he’d pictured what it would be like to be pinned between the two of them. “But that doesn’t mean…I wouldn’t… I love Sherlock. I’d never do anything to hurt him.”

“It’s alright, John.” Sherlock said quietly. “I suspect there’s some sort of magic at play here that in some way magnifies an individual’s urges.”

“Magnifies? No. Illuminates might be a closer interpretation. I may bring those deep dark desires of his to light, but I don’t _cause_ them. I don’t cause any of the urges you lot seem to like to blame me for. I believe in free will, Sherlock.”

“Free will? How is it free will when you force people to say things like that?”, snarled John.

“I can’t make you admit something that isn’t true. You find me desirable. What’s wrong with admitting the truth, John?”

“Because it’s… it’s not fair! I love Sherlock. He’s the only man I love, and you…”

“John. Don’t.” Sherlock shot a warning glance at him.

“There’s no need to get touchy, Doctor. Don’t take it so personally. Nearly everyone wants me.” He grinned at Sherlock. “But not you? Mortals are so very interesting.”

“Why are you here on Earth, Lucifer? You’ve been here five years. How did you manage that when the seal was still unbroken?”

“I decided to take a vacation. Hell gets dull, and I got tired of playing a part in my Father’s little immorality play. As for the seal, it’s meaningless to someone with my level of power. How did you humans manage to break it?”

“I don’t know. We’re investigating that, but there’s not much evidence to go on. What about when magic makes its way here? Does that concern you?”

“Should it?”

“Aren’t you the King of Hell? I thought mortals commanding demons and otherworldly beings was the reason it was sealed. Aren’t you concerned about that?”

“I’ve resigned. I’m too strong for mere mortals to command anyway. What you lot get up to with the rest of them isn’t my problem anymore. How about we liven things up a bit? Drugs, anyone?” He grabbed a tray from behind the bar and set it down. Lines of white powder filled the center, while compartments on the side held a variety of pills, joints, and small packets of various substances. He picked up a silver tube, snorted a line, and lit a joint. “Heroin?”

“No, thank you. I’m not bored.”

“Some small part of you is tempted, though, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I don’t need it. I’ll probably never use again. I’ve found something far more addictive, as you already know.”

“It’s good to see you’re really human, at least. I was beginning to wonder.”

“You wouldn’t be the first. Why are you working as a consultant with the L.A.P.D. homicide department if you don’t care about humans?”

“I like seeing the guilty punished. Call it a hobby.”

“And your partner, Detective Decker… don’t you care what could happen to her in all this? The police won’t stand a chance against some of the creatures they’re going to face and we both know it.”

“Let’s make a deal, Sherlock.” Lucifer’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You leave her out of this and I’ll quit making John admit what he _really_ wants.”

“As you wish”, said Sherlock. His suspicions had been confirmed. Lucifer’s pressure point was his partner. “If we don’t find a way to combat it, magic’s going to destroy this world. You must see that. All I’m asking is that you help us find a way to combat it.”

“Curiosity is a trait we share. I’m curious about you. Satisfy that curiosity, and I’ll help you. You say you doubt you’re capable of sexual arousal outside of John. Do you dare to find out?”

“I’m not going to have sex with you.”

“I just want to know if it’s true or not. Let down your walls and let me kiss you. Show me who you truly are. Ten seconds, no sex, just one kiss. Regardless of the outcome, I’ll give you three things to help you if you do.”

“I accept on the condition that no magic be involved in any way, other than your ability to illuminate what already exists within me. I’d also like to ask you a few questions as well.”

“Sherlock!”

“Oh, come now, doctor. Surely your love is strong enough to withstand one kiss. Besides, he’s already agreed, and it’s not wise to try and back out of a deal with the devil.”

“Go downstairs, John.”

“I’m not leaving.” He glared stubbornly at Sherlock.

“Mmm, it seems John wants to watch.”

“Watch out for is more like it.”

“Don’t interfere.” Sherlock glanced over at John, softening his tone. “It’ll be fine.”

“Do you two need time for a domestic?”

“No, John will be fine. Won’t you, John?”

“I don’t like this one bit”, he grumbled.

“Well then detective…” He stood, his shimmering white wings fanning out behind him. “Let’s see what happens.” He drew Sherlock into his arms. “No resistance, Sherlock. Look me in the eyes and show me your deepest desires.”

Ten seconds. It didn’t _sound_ like a long time, but for John, it felt like forever. Lucifer pulled Sherlock closer, wrapping his wings around him and obscuring John’s view of what was happening. It seemed like an eternity before he finally released him.

“So now you know, detective. We both know.”

“Yes. I kept my end of the bargain, Lucifer. Help us.”

“I’m a devil of my word, Sherlock. Here, take this.” Lucifer walked to a tall bookcase to the right of the bar and reached up, pulling down a small book. It was bound in red leather and locked. He slipped a key into the lock and handed it to Sherlock. “Can you read it?”

“It’s blank.”

“So much for your career as a sorcerer. You’ll have to find someone with real mystical talent to use it. I recommend you choose that person very carefully, because they’re going to be the new era’s first real mage. Choose the wrong person, and you’ll end up creating a monster, so make sure it’s someone you can trust, who has a strong will and won’t be tempted to misuse its power.” He reached back, pulling a feather from his wing and handing it to Sherlock. “Use it wisely. You can only use it once, and I won’t give you another.” He grinned. “Not without that three-way, at least.”

“How do I use it?”

“Hold it to a mortal wound, and that person will be healed. Concentrate on me and burn it, and you can summon me to your side. You’ll have to be calm and focused on me, or it won’t burn. You might want to call first if you can.” He smiled. “Not that I mind, but John might be… bothered if I showed up naked. The edge is quite sharp, and it will serve you as a knife. It should be sufficient to banish any creature short of a Greater Power back to its own realm if you can strike a mortal blow. And take my private number. As long as you don’t abuse the privilege, I’ll answer any little questions you might have about whatever you run across.”

“Thank you, Lucifer. Will you answer a few questions about yourself now?”

“Let me guess your first one. I’m not evil, and I don’t tempt people into evil. People make their own Hell from their own sense of guilt. I merely presided over it.”

“Is there a personification of evil?”

“No. Absolute good and evil is a human concept, and a very simplistic one at that. There are creatures that prey on human souls, but they’re only evil by human standards. They don’t have a choice but to be what they are. A lion might seem evil if it’s about to eat you, but it’s just a predator, doing what nature designed it to do.”

“If you’ve resigned your position as King of Hell, why do you still have power?”

“I have other titles as well, and abilities that are part of my nature. Besides, while I may have abandoned the throne, no one else has claimed it. Until someone does, I’m still capable of wielding that power. I just choose not to.”

“How powerful are you? Are there many beings with your level of power?”

“I’m one of the strongest beings in all of creation. Some beings might rival my power in one area or another, but overall, only my brother Michael can equal me… and my Father, of course.”

“Why did you leave Heaven?”

“It’s a long story, full of family drama.” He sighed and refilled his glass. “Chalk it up to an expression of free will on my part.”

“Is there a God?”

“Many. There are a lot of lesser entities that have been worshipped as gods, but I suspect you’re asking about my Father, and he’s very real. Don’t make the mistake of thinking any of you humans has got it right as far as religion goes, though. Religious texts are even less reliable than magical ones.”

“I presume when you left Hell, you could have chosen some other realm to dwell in. Why Earth?”

“Because I’m too powerful to live in any other realms of the Endless permanently. I can visit them if I like, but setting up residence is quite another matter. I’d end up displacing the Power that controls it, and I’m not interested in ruling. I never have been. Besides, I like mortals. You’re an amusing lot. How about you, Doctor? Don’t you have any questions?”

“I…” He glanced at Sherlock. “No.”

“Not even about the ghost that’s linked to you?”

“You can tell, then, just by looking at me?”

“Yes, just like I can see Oberon’s put a geas on you both, and that Sherlock’s bound to a fairy.” He smiled. “He’s very clever, as I’m sure you’ve learned.”

“Why did she end up trapped in the void?”

“Any number of reasons. It could be your doing, hers, or no one’s. The system that determines where a mortal goes when they die is complicated. It could be the celestial equivalent of a clerical error. It could be your own inability to let her go. It could be her unwillingness to go; that’s common when someone feels they left things undone. All I can tell you is that the soul that shares your body isn’t damned.”

“Is there any way to get her back?”, Sherlock quietly asked.

“Not without killing John in the process. His soul and hers are entangled, and if she ends up in a new body, his soul would inevitably follow. If they want to touch each other again, she could possess a medium temporarily, if they’re weak enough or willing, but you’d have to depend on her to let them go, and that’s asking a lot of her. Staying in that body would kill both John and the medium within three days, but life is very compelling to ghosts of her type and she may not be willing to leave it. I see you’re both wearing jade. Is she a danger to you?”

“No. It was her idea. She’s not a danger to anyone.” John glanced apologetically at Sherlock and continued. “The Void, the way she describes it; it sounds awful. Is there some way to at least make her more comfortable?”

“Jade will keep her on the mortal plane, but wearing it too long will weaken her. She draws much of her innate power from the void itself, so cutting herself off from it permanently isn’t advisable. If she becomes strong enough, she may be able to maintain herself on Earth indefinitely without cutting that connection, but without taking life energy, it’s unlikely she’ll ever grow strong enough. There are ways to gather that energy without harming anyone, but that involves some very advanced necromancy or the aid of one of the Powers. Whoever you give the book to may be able to do it eventually, if they’re talented enough, but it takes practice and understanding to master spells of that level. I’m sorry there’s no easy answer I can give you, John.”

“Thank you anyway, Lucifer. I appreciate it.”

“I know what it’s like to love someone”, he replied softly. “Now, if there’s no more questions and you’re not staying to entertain me, I’m off to find a companion or three for the evening. And just to show the good doctor I’m not all bad, the rest of the evening’s on me. Go downstairs, have a few drinks and relax.”

\---

Lux Nightclub, L.A.: (early AM, L.A. time)

“What happened? What happened when he kissed you?”

“Dance with me, John.”

“What? Let’s just get out of here.”

“One dance, John. Please.” He slipped the book into his pocket and led John to the dance floor. “I’ll even let you lead.”

“Sherlock, I can’t dance to this…” The music abruptly stopped, and the rich sound of the grand piano rang out. John took him in his arms and they danced, bodies pressed together as they gazed lovingly into each other’s eyes. The world seemed to fade away, until it was just the two of them and the music.

_“I’m addicted to you, hooked on your love, like a powerful drug, I can’t get enough of. Lost in your eyes, drowning in blue, out of control, what can I do? I’m addicted to you.”_

As the last notes rang out, Sherlock bent his head, meeting John’s lips for a long, loving kiss. Smiling, Sherlock took his hand and led him out of the club. They were both looking forward to the plane ride home.

\---

Author’s notes:

Song quote credits: Metallica, _Unforgiven_ and Avicii, _Addicted to You_


	11. #SherlockInLove

Mycroft’s House: (20 April, early morning)

Despite the rigid schedule he’d imposed on himself, Mycroft had never been a morning person. His sleep had too often been plagued by nightmares, and the instant he woke, he’d feel the full weight of his responsibilities, bearing down on him. Greg had changed all that. Waking in his lover’s arms, he felt rested and relaxed, and eager to make love. He turned over, facing his still-sleeping lover with a smile.

He thought back to Greg’s words the night before: _I’d be honored to marry you. Forever with you is all I want._ A part of him wondered if he’d done the right thing; if he really deserved a man like Greg. Would he really be able to give this magnificent man the happiness he deserved? His smile faded as his thoughts darkened.

They were different in so many ways, but there was only one difference that really worried him. Greg was a good man, one of the best he’d ever known. Despite Greg’s belief in him, Mycroft didn’t consider himself a good man. When he’d said he had secrets, he hadn’t meant his work. Hidden deep in the recesses of his mind palace was a terrible secret he’d kept since he was seventeen, a truth that Uncle Rudy had made disappear. Would Greg still love him if he knew? 

Mycroft willed his dark thoughts away, reassuring himself that no one would ever know. He couldn’t change what he’d done in the past, but Greg had changed his future. He might never be a good man, but being with Greg had made him a better one. He resolved that he’d do everything within his power to ensure Greg’s happiness. His smile returned as he thought again of Greg’s words. _Forever_.

“Good mornin’, lover.” Greg smiled as his eyes opened and he leaned close, capturing Mycroft’s lips for a kiss. His deep brown eyes sparkled with joy as he remembered their engagement. “Still wanna make an honest man outta me?”

“I can’t imagine my life without you.”

“You don’t have to.” He pulled him closer, nuzzling his neck and whispering into his ear. “Forever, Mycroft.”

“Forever.” Mycroft felt the heat of his lover’s cock pressing against his body, and his own began to harden in response. He bent his head, kissing Greg’s shoulder. Slowly and somewhat nervously, he began to work his way down his lover’s body. In all their lovemaking, he’d never gone down on him. Greg had never questioned him about it, and he’d been grateful for that, but it was time to put old phobias aside.

He parted his lips, taking the head into his mouth and wrapping his hand around the base, trying to copy Greg’s technique. He took in as much as he could without gagging and slid back up, trying to coordinate the movements of his head with his hand. It was more difficult than it seemed, but after a few moments, he began to get into the rhythm, picking up his pace as he went.

“Oh, God… _yeahhh_ …” Greg growled, willing himself to stay still as he fought the urge to thrust himself deeper. He’d wanted this since the first time they’d made love, but he’d waited patiently until Mycroft was ready. His dark eyes glittered with pleasure as he watched his lover’s head sliding up and down on his cock, and even the occasional, accidental scraping of teeth against his flesh did nothing to dampen Greg’s enthusiasm. After a few minutes, he felt himself nearing orgasm. He clutched Mycroft’s shoulder, moaning, his voice a low rumble. “Oh, God, Mycroft… I’m gonna… cum.”

“Mmm.” Mycroft didn’t stop. He wanted to taste him; wanted Greg to taste himself on his lips when he kissed him. He swallowed eagerly as his lover’s cock erupted in his mouth, relishing the taste of him on his tongue. His eyes widened in surprise. He’d tasted himself on Greg’s lips, and he’d expected it to be the same, but his lover tasted sweeter and less bitter.

“Did I do it right?” Mycroft smiled slyly, feeling quite pleased with his efforts. He slid back up his lover’s body, his cock grinding against his hip and throbbing with need as he kissed him.

“Yeah, lover, you did real good. Now, what are we gonna do about this?” Greg reached down, stroking Mycroft’s cock for emphasis.

Mycroft’s smile widened and he pressed into his touch as he noticed his lover’s eyes, darting over to the lube that sat on the bedside table. Last night had washed away all his fears and uncertainties about topping Greg, and he reached for the bottle with an eager grin on his face.

“Well, I do need to get my morning exercise…” 

\---

Challenger’s Jet, Gulfstream G650: (early AM, L.A. time)

“Sherlock, what happened when he kissed you?”

“Nothing.” He tapped his fingers restlessly on the armrest of his seat as John stared at him blankly. “Nothing of _importance_.” John sat in silence, looking at him expectantly. “God, John, why does it matter?”

“Because I want to know. It’s only fair, after all.” John took a sip of the scotch he’d poured for himself to cover his embarrassment. “He made _me_ admit it when I didn’t want to”, he grumbled. “The least you could do is tell me what happened. Did you find him… desirable?”

“I… may have felt some small level of physical response. There, are you happy now?”

“Why was that so hard to admit?”

“Because it terrifies me, John. I don’t want anyone other than you to ever… move me in that manner.”

“It’s a normal human response.”

“Exactly.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it you know; noticing someone’s attractive.”

“Maybe not for you. For me… it was profoundly disturbing, and I’d really rather not talk about it any further.” His eyes filled with a pain that John knew he’d never fully understand, and it tore at his heart.

“I’m sorry”, John said softly. “I shouldn’t have pressed you about it.”

“He really is the Devil, John. There’s always a price to pay, when one deals with Him. Can we just go lie down together? I… I need you.”

“Come on, my love.” John rose, taking Sherlock by the hand. “I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.” He led him to the bedroom, slowly undressing him as Sherlock stood there, mute and almost unresponsive. He tucked him into bed and hastily stripped his own suit off, slipping in to lie beside him and taking him into his arms. Sherlock laid his head on his chest, holding him tightly and listening to the beat of his heart.

“I love you.” Sherlock nuzzled into his neck, breathing in his scent. “I need you. Take me, John. I need to feel you inside me.”

“I love you, Sherlock. I love you, so much.” John rolled him over onto his back, tenderly kissing him as Sherlock’s hands roamed across his skin. He grabbed the oil and spread it on his fingers, slipping them between his lover’s cheeks to caress his opening. Sherlock moaned softly as he slid one in.

“Take me _now_ , John”, he pleaded. “Just take me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He could feel the tension in his lover’s body as he slipped a second finger in, trying to be gentle.

“I don’t care. Please, John, I _need_ you, now.” 

Responding to the urgency in his voice, John lubed up his cock, pressing the tip against the tight ring of muscle. Sherlock’s long legs wrapped around him, heels digging into John’s arse, driving him deep inside. His sky-grey eyes were wide as he hissed through clenched teeth, a sound somewhere between pain and pleasure. He held him there for a moment, pinned deep inside him, then released his grip. John hesitated a moment and then began to move, slowly at first, then faster as his lover encouraged him.

“Harder, John”, he gasped. “Fuck me _hard_.”

John let his body respond to his lover’s desperation, pounding into him roughly as Sherlock cried out his name. He kept himself from cumming as long as he could, until finally, his lover orgasmed, writhing beneath him as waves of ecstasy overtook him. The sight drove John over the edge, and he emptied himself into Sherlock’s body with a loud, inarticulate roar. He collapsed beside him, chest heaving as he panted for breath.

“Are you… alright?” John looked over in concern, fearing he’d hurt him.

“I am now.” He smiled, leaning over to kiss John. “You’re the only one I’ll ever let have me, John Watson. You and only you.” He scooted over, wrapping his long limbs across John’s body and pressing his still-hard cock against his sweat-dampened skin. “When you’ve got your breath back, can we try it standing up?”

\---

Mycroft’s office: (20 April, late-morning)

“Sir, I think there’s something you need to see.” Anthea stuck her head in the door to his office, trying not to smirk.

“Is it about the China situation? If so, take it to Lady Smallwood. She’s handling that for now.”

“It’s about your brother. He’s been outed on Twitter.”

“What!”

“Hashtag SherlockInLove.”

“Oh, dear Lord.” His fingers tapped nimbly on the keyboard and an image popped up: Sherlock and John, kissing passionately in a nightclub. He sighed unhappily, wondering how long it would take his parents to find out.

\---

Greg’s Office, Scotland Yard: (20 April, late-morning)

“Tim! What are you doin’ here?” Greg looked at his sixteen-year-old nephew in surprise. He hadn’t seen him in months, and the boy had grown taller. “Come on in. What brings you to London?”

“I… Can I talk to you? I can come back, if you’re busy…”

“Nah, it’s fine. Have a seat.” He looked at the backpack and hold-all the boy was carrying. “You visiting some friends?”

“Dad’s kicked me out.”  He dropped his things beside the chair and sat down, looking miserable. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Kicked you out? Why?” Greg kept his expression calm, but inside he was furious. His brother Tony had done a lot of things to anger him over the years, but this was by far the worst.

“I…” He looked down at his trainers, blushing nervously. Tim had heard the rumors that his uncle was bisexual, but he had no idea if they were true. He blinked back tears, thinking that if Uncle Greg reacted like his father had, he wouldn’t be able to stand it. “He found out that I’m gay. I… I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? It’s Tony that outta be sorry.” He looked over sympathetically at the boy. “You got nothin’ to apologize about.”

“You’re not… disappointed in me?” He looked up at his uncle, his hazel eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and hope.

“Why would I be? There’s nothing wrong with being gay, Tim. You can’t help who you love. Besides, I just got engaged to my boyfriend last night.”

“You’re gay too? I mean, Dad’s said some things, but I… you know how he is.”

“All too well. It’ll be alright. We’ll get you sorted out. What about your Mother? Where’s she these days?”

“Mum’s in Spain, I think.” He shrugged. “She’s got a new boyfriend again, so I haven’t heard from her in a while. I… I don’t think she’ll help me. I’m sorry to just show up like this. I just… I didn’t know where else to go.”

“We’ll work somethin’ out. Don’t worry, okay? I’ll take care of everything. You can stay at my place for now, and we’ll see about gettin’ you back in school.”

“I can get a job. I don’t want to be a burden to you…”

“You’re not a burden, Tim. You’re family, and I’m gonna make sure you’re taken care of, which means gettin’ you back to school. Do you know what you wanna be yet?”

“I was thinking I’d like to be a gardener. I like working with plants.”

“I’m sure you’d be a good one. Come on, I’ll take you by my place for now.”

\---

Restaurant: (20 April, early afternoon)

“Mycroft, there’s something I need to talk to you about. It’s my nephew, Tim.”

“Your nephew?” Mycroft tried, somewhat unsuccessfully, to hide the relief he felt. When Greg had called and said he needed to discuss something important, Mycroft’s insecurities had got the better of him and he’d feared he’d changed his mind about their engagement.

“My bastard brother’s kicked him out. He’s a good kid, but he’s only sixteen, and he’s got nobody to turn to but me. I got him at my place for now, but I can’t leave him there on his own at sixteen.”

“I… I see.” Mycroft sipped his wine, considering what to say. “I’m sure I could get him into Westminster, if that would suit.”

“I don’t think I could afford that, and Tony’s not gonna help. I’m sorry, but I just… I can’t move in with you right now.”

“I can afford it”, he said softly. He looked away, trying to hide the pain in his eyes. The thought of going back to sleeping alone was agonizing.

“I can’t ask you to pay for somethin’ like that.”

“Why not? You do still want to marry me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I love you, and nothings ever gonna change that. But I can’t ask you to pay for my nephew’s school.”

“You didn’t. I offered. Just let me do this, please. I… I need you, Greg.” He couldn’t keep the tone of desperation from his voice. “Besides, once we get married, he’ll be my nephew as well.”

“I need you too, but what can I do? Even if we do send him to Westminster, there’s still weekends and summer.”

“He can stay with us, unless you don’t want him to know about… me.”

“Why would you think I don’t want him to know? I’ve already told him we’re engaged. He’s gay, Mycroft. That’s why my prick of a brother threw him out. But do you really want a teen-ager around? I thought you said you’re not comfortable with kids.”

“Then I’ll _get_ comfortable.” He didn’t even hesitate. If it meant Greg was still moving in, he would have said yes to a horde of wild orangutans without hesitation. Greg was an obsession that trumped all others.

“Are you sure? You haven’t even met him.”

“I’m sure. I… The thought of you not moving in is more than I can bear. Bring him with you when you come home tonight, and we’ll get him settled in. I’ll call the school and make the proper arrangements.”

“Look, I want you to think about this. It’s asking a lot of you; I know that, and I want to make sure you're reallly okay with this.”

“I don’t _need_ to think about it. I want you with me, and if that means your nephew needs to stay with us a while, then so be it. We certainly have enough room for him.”

“God, I love you.”

“I… _forever_ , Greg.” He smiled at him, his blue-grey eyes filled with adoration.

“I know, lover.” He understood very well what a sacrifice this was on Mycroft’s part. He was a man who valued order and privacy, and he hadn’t even hesitated to take Tim in. It was more proof that Mycroft loved him than anything they did in bed together.

“By the way, have you seen this?” He pulled out his mobile and showed Greg the Twitter post with the picture of Sherlock and John.

“Shit.” Greg frowned. “Have your parents seen this yet?”

“No. I’m quite sure I’d have heard from them if they had.”

“John’s gonna be pissed off. I don’t think he’s told his family yet.”

“I imagine not. I’d have seen it taken down, but it’s been re-tweeted far too many times for that. The genie’s out of the bottle on this one, I’m afraid.”

“When are your parents coming? Tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“Unless they see this before then. I’ve made sure it won’t appear in the tabloids before then, but that’s really all I can do.”

\---

Tesco: (20 April, late Afternoon)

Molly’s day had gone wonderfully. She’d gone by to meet the two fairy hives, and it had been a delightful experience. She’d found the small creatures to be enchanting, and she’d been fascinated by their many variations. She’d taken a lot of notes, hoping to classify the insect species they were based on. On her way home she’d stopped by the store, picking up some things for herself along with treats for them. She turned down the pet food section, thinking she’d get a few treats for her cat, Toby.

“Dr. Hooper?”

“Liam!” She looked up from the selection of tinned cat food, smiling when she saw him. “Please, call me Molly. It’s good to see you.” 

“It’s good to see you, too. How’s the investigation going?”

“Good. I’ve just spent the day with some fairies, and they’re just lovely. How are things with you?”

“Fine. I was just… um… picking up a few things.” He glanced over at his trolley, obviously embarrassed. Alongside a few packages of meat were a large number of dog food tins. “It’s a bit much, feeding myself these days”, he said apologetically.

“I never thought to ask about your diet. Is it all meat, then?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I can eat a bit of other stuff when I’m, you know, human, but I get these cravings…”

“I bet it’s difficult for you”, she said sympathetically. “It’s expensive enough just with regular food. How much do you eat?”

“A lot”, he said ruefully, gesturing at the meat. “I could eat all of this in one go, really. I’ve done some research, and I eat even more than real wolves do. I tried the kibble stuff, but it didn’t go well, so I just get by on the tinned stuff mostly. And even that… well, I’ve learned not to get the cheapest stuff. It gives me… digestive problems.”

“I see you’ve got your contacts in.”

“Yeah, in case I run into somebody I know. My flat’s just around the corner, and I don’t wanna have to think up some excuse about why my eyes look so weird.”

“I think they’re beautiful.” She blushed, suddenly flustered.

“Really? I looked on the internet, and it said people don’t ever have yellow irises like mine. You don’t think it looks… I don’t know, freakish or something?”

“No, not at all. It probably is best, with the contacts… for your safety, I mean. Once word gets out about magic, it might make people wonder, but it’s a shame, really.”

“Molly, do you think…” He hesitated, looking suddenly nervous. “I mean, would you like to, um… there’s this nice pub down the street, and I was wondering if maybe you’d like to… go have a drink with me. You can call your friends and let them know you’re with me if you’d feel safer. I’ll understand if you don’t want to, I just…”

“Liam. I think that would be lovely.”

“You do? I mean, erm… great!” Lian grinned happily, thinking how pretty she was and how glad he was that she wasn’t afraid of him. He reminded himself not to get too excited; it was just drinks, and she might not be interested in him beyond studying his condition. Still, a werewolf could hope…

\---

Greg’s flat: (20 April, late afternoon)

“I could just stay here. I don’t wanna be in the way, what with you just getting engaged.” Tim looked at him anxiously, brushing his hands through his chestnut brown hair.

“You’re not gonna be in the way, and I’m not leavin’ you here on your own. I spoke with Mycroft this afternoon, and he’s gonna get you into Westminster for the rest of summer term.”

“Westminster?” Tim’s eyes widened in shock. “Isn’t that really expensive?”

“Don’t worry about that. All I want you worried about is gettin’ good grades.”

“I’m going to do my best, Uncle Greg. What’s he like, your boyfriend?”

“Absolutely incredible. He’s probably the smartest guy you’ll ever meet. Have you ever heard of Sherlock Holmes?”

“Yeah, I know you work with him. I’ve seen him in the papers. And, um… there was a picture on Twitter today… He’s gay too, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, him and John are in love. Mycroft’s his older brother. He’s not used to havin’ teen-agers around, and he’s kinda on the formal side, so I want you on your best manners.” He grinned, thinking that _kinda on the formal side_ was more than a bit of an under-exaggeration.

“I will be, I promise. Are you sure there’s room for me?”

“Oh, yeah.” Greg chuckled. “Wait ‘til you see the place. It’s huge.”

“Is there a garden? I could help out in it if there is.”

“Yeah, about that…” He paused, wondering how to explain the existence of fairies to his nephew. He decided it would be better to show him. “I’ll show you when we get there. Let’s just say you’re gonna be surprised when you see it. Now grab your stuff, and we’ll go on over.”

\---

Mycroft’s House: (20 April, late afternoon)

“This is his house?” Tim stared in amazement, wide-eyed since they’d driven past the manned gate. “He must be loaded. Is he famous or something?”

“Nah, he’s with the government.”

“Is that why there’s guards and stuff?”

“Yeah, kinda. Look, leave your stuff in the car and come round back with me. There’s somethin’ you need to see.” Greg led him to the back yard, wondering how Tim would react. “You gotta promise not to freak out, okay?”

“Sure, I… Wow.” He stopped in his tracks, staring at the large formal garden. He looked at the hedges, wondering why they were beginning to look overgrown. “Did his gardener quit?”

“Tim, I’m about to show you somethin’ that’s gonna be hard to believe. Just stay real calm and quiet, and I’ll explain, but you’re not gonna believe me ‘til you see ‘em.” He led Tim past the fountain, to the spot near the hawthorn tree where the fairies usually appeared, and sat down. Tim sat in the grass beside him, looking at him curiously. A few moments passed, then a large bumblebee appeared, landing on Greg’s shoulder. He watched in astonishment as his uncle held out his hand and the bee landed on it.

“I’ve never seen a bee that big! Aren’t you worried it’s gonna sting you?”

“Nah, we’re kinda friends. Don’t be scared, but he’s not exactly a bee. Just stay really still, alright?”

“Sure, I…” His heart skipped a beat as the bee suddenly transformed into a tiny, man-shaped creature. It stared at him curiously as he gawked at it, mouth hanging open and eyes wide with shock.

“Tim, this is a fairy.”

“But… but it can’t be real, can it?”

“He’s real. It’s a long story, but magic exists, and this little guy is proof. As long as you’re friendly, they won’t hurt you.”

“They? There’s more of them?”

“A bunch. They’re kinda cautious around new people, but once they figure out you’re not gonna hurt ‘em, the others will come out. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I just… _Wow_. Can I hold him?”

“Hold your hand out, and he’ll probably come to you. Just keep your thoughts peaceful. They can pick up on people’s feelings.”

Tim held out his hand and the fairy rose into the air, circling his head a few times before landing in his palm. They were soon surrounded by a host of small fairies, chirruping excitedly as they flew about them both.

“They’re so beautiful, Uncle Greg! This is just… incredible.” He smiled, his eyes bright with wonder.

“Yeah, there’s a lot of incredible stuff around these days. Fairies aren’t the only magical thing around, but they’re harmless as long as they’re not threatened.”

“Is that why he’s let the hedges grow out? I bet the hedge cutters and mowers and stuff would scare them.”

“Yeah, I think you’re probably right. Besides, fairies like things more natural, so Mycroft’s tryin’ to make them happy.” He grinned, glad to see Tim smiling for the first time since he arrived. “Come on, let’s get your stuff outta the car. You can help me feed them in the mornin’, if you want.”

\---

Mycroft’s House: (20 April, early evening)

“He’s been through a lot, so try not to scare to boy, alright?” Greg grinned, greeting Mycroft at the door with a kiss.

“Me?” A slight smile tugged at the corner of Mycroft’s lips. “Do you think I’m frightening?”

“You’re bloody terrifyin’, and you know it.” He grinned. “So go easy, and try not to intimidate him too much. He’s already a little overwhelmed by the house. He’s a really good kid, Mycroft.”

“Did you tell him about the fairies?”

“Yeah, and he was real good with them. I haven’t told him about the rest of it; he’s been through enough for now.”

“I would imagine so. I’ve arranged for him to start at Westminster on Monday. I thought it best he should have a few days to settle in here first.”

“That’s real considerate of you, lover.”

Tim sat in the kitchen, nervously waiting to meet his uncle’s fiancé. He frowned at his shirt, wishing he’d brought a nicer one. He wanted to make a good impression on Mr. Holmes. Uncle Greg was obviously deeply in love with him; Tim could see it in the way his uncle’s face lit up when he talked about him, but despite his assurances he was welcome, Tim felt like he was intruding.

The house was beautiful but it reminded Tim of a museum, complete with antiques, fine paintings and even suits of armor. He felt distinctly out-of-place there. It was the kind of home he’d imagined the posh kids lived in, not the son of a builder like him. He’d done his best to look respectable, but he felt underdressed in his trainers and jeans. Uncle Greg had said he was a very formal, private sort of man, and Tim was afraid he wouldn’t want him there. He’d already decided that if Mr. Holmes didn’t like him, he’d just quietly run away. He’d caused enough unhappiness, and his father’s rejection of him had hurt deeply. He didn’t want to cause any problems between his uncle and the man he so clearly loved. Tim heard them coming towards the kitchen and his heart started pounding with anxiety.

“Mycroft, this is my nephew, Tim.”

“Hello, Timothy.”

“Hello, Mr. Holmes. Thank you for having me here.” Tim jumped off the stool and shook the man’s extended hand, trying not to stare or fidget. He was impeccably dressed but despite his smile there was something very intimidating about him. He didn’t look like the kind of man that would want a teen-ager around.

“You’re very welcome.” Mycroft looked at the boy, trying not to stare. He looked a lot like he’d imagined Greg would have at that age, except his eyes were hazel instead of deep brown. The boy was obviously uncomfortable, and Mycroft wondered what to say to put him more at ease.

“I’m makin’ dinner, so why don’t you two get acquainted.” Greg grinned at the two and kissed Mycroft on the cheek. “You want your usual?”

“I’ll just have a scotch.”

“Sure thing. Tim, you want some juice or somethin’?” He poured Mycroft’s drink and grabbed a beer for himself.

“I’m fine, Uncle Greg. I just had some a while ago.”

“So, Timothy… Greg tells me you met the fairies. What do you think of them?”

“They’re really amazing! I can’t believe they’re real. One even landed in my hand. Uncle Greg says I can help feed them in the morning.”

“That would be a great help, I’m sure. I’m not as good with them as your Uncle is. They’ve changed quite a lot since he met them. They’re empathic, and I’m not as… enthusiastic about their presence as I should be.”

“I can tell you’ve put a lot of effort into your garden.”

“Or rather my staff has, as my younger brother likes to remind me.” He smiled ruefully. “Greg tells me you have an interest in horticulture.”

“Yeah… Uh, Yes, Sir. I like working with plants. I did some work last summer with a landscaper. I can help here, if you’d like.”

“I rather imagine you’ll be busy with school.”

“Yes, Sir. Uncle Greg told me you got me into Westminster. Thank you. I know it’s a big opportunity, and I promise I’ll do my best.”

“I’m sure you will.” Having run out of things to say, the two sat in uncomfortable silence, watching Greg bustle around the kitchen.

\---

The Blue Fox Pub: (20 April, early evening)

“It sounds wonderful, the way you describe it.” He wasn’t the usual type of man she was attracted to, but the more time Molly spent with Liam, the more she liked him. He was handsome, but it was his manner that really impressed her: open, honest and out-going.

“It is, really. It’s hard sometimes though. I hate keeping secrets, but not many people would understand. They’d think I’m some kind of monster. I guess, you know, technically I am… I mean, I guess I’m not really human anymore, but I’d never want to hurt anybody. I worry about that… not me hurting someone; I mean people finding out what I am. I was really scared the other night at the lab. I’d have never had the nerve to come forward if it weren’t for Tom being there.”

“I’m glad you did though. I know you and Thomas are friends, but doesn’t he… scare you, a bit?”

“No, he’s been great. He even offered to protect me, if it ever came down to it. I guess at first he did, a bit… He kinda made my hair stand on end, but then he turned into a wolf and we started playing… I’m not gay or anything, it’s a… a wolf thing. We kinda… bonded. Does he scare you?”

“I’m afraid so. He seems nice, though, and he has been really helpful. I think I’m still getting used to him.”

“He’s been a good friend. He may seem scary, but he’s not a monster either. It’s been good, having someone I can talk to about all this.”

“I bet it has been.” She looked at him sympathetically. “You’re not alone, though. You can always talk to me, if you need to.”

“I appreciate that. You’re not scared of _me_ , are you?”

“No. I admit, that first time in the lab when you transformed, I was, but you seemed very sweet, really.” She smiled, remembering how he’d slunk down, trying to make himself look as unthreatening as a nearly two-meter-tall werewolf could manage.

“I tried not to scare you. I knew you were. I can smell fear when I’m changed. It’s kinda strange, going back to human, sometimes. It’s hard to describe; like putting a hood over my head or something. All my senses are just a lot stronger, when I’m a wolf.”

“Do you go out every night? I know you said the moon didn’t have to be full for you to change.”

“I wish. I would, if I didn’t have to work. When I’ve been out running, I just want to eat and sleep all the next day.” He looked over at her nervously. “Um… Do you think, I mean… Would you like to go out to a movie or something sometime? I’ll understand if you don’t. I’m just a mechanic and you’re a doctor, plus, you know, the whole me not being human thing, but I… you’re really pretty and sweet and I really like you.” He blushed faintly, taking a swallow of his pint to cover his embarrassment.

“I like you too, Liam.” Molly smiled happily. “I think that’d be lovely.”

\---

30 Kilometers from London: (20 April, evening)

Daybreak had driven it to ground but with the fall of night it seeped out of its hiding place, heading towards its quarry. It headed instinctively down routes it had once driven, clinging to the shadows of the roadside. It paused, sensing the dim light of a human mind nearby. It wasn’t the prey it sought, but it hungered.

Peter Shaw peered at the mysteries under the bonnet of his car as he waited for roadside assistance. He frowned at his mobile, wishing they’d get there soon, and decided he’d better call his girlfriend and let her know he’d be late. He sighed in resignation. It’d probably be too late to go out for dinner by the time he got home, and he knew she’d be angry again.

The phone clattered to the ground as he was shrouded in sudden mist. It seeped into him, feeding on his mind before moving on. His living but mindless body fell with a thud as the creature moved on, its scattered and fragmented thoughts only slightly more ordered by the mind it had absorbed. It wasn’t nearly enough, and it still hungered.

\---

Challenger’s Jet, Gulfstream G650: (20 April, evening, London time)

“Let’s try this again.” They’d made love, had dinner and slept, then awakened to make love again. John was fairly sure his lover had decided to try all the positions of the Kama Sutra.

“Don’t drop me this time.” John laughed as he draped his arms around Sherlock’s neck, pulling himself up as his lover lifted him. He wrapped his legs around his lover’s waist, locking his ankles together. Sherlock pressed him against the wall, trying to lower him onto his cock. “I don’t think this is going to work…”

“It will. Hold on tight. I just need one hand free for a moment…” Sherlock reached down, grabbing his cock and aligning the tip with John’s hole. “There, now just slide down a little…”

Still a little dubious, John cautiously slid down, slowly impaling himself on his lover’s cock as Sherlock’s other arm circled him again. He gasped as the head pushed in and slid across his prostate.

It took a few moments to coordinate their movements, but once they did, John decided this position was working very well indeed. He moaned, his body shuddering with pleasure as their bodies moved in tandem. After just a few minutes, he felt his climax building inside him. Sherlock captured his lips for a kiss as waves of ecstasy went through his body.

They sank to the floor, bodies still locked together. They ended up with John on top, straddling Sherlock as he rode him. John shifted his angle, babbling Sherlock’s name as his orgasm continued, crashing through his body for long, glorious minutes as he rode his lover until Sherlock could stand no more. He cried out, grabbing John’s hips and driving himself deep as he exploded inside him. John stayed in place until the last shockwave passed, then rolled off him to lie on the floor beside him, panting. He looked over at his lover, his dark blue eyes almost glowing with pleasure.

“Oh, dear God… Sherlock…”, he gasped. “That was… _incredible_.”

 _“Was?”_ He grinned slyly, stroking John’s still-hard cock. “Who said we were done yet?”

“You… are going to kill me.” He smiled happily at him. “And I don’t even care.”

“My turn.” Still grinning, Sherlock grabbed the lube and crawled on top of him.

“I don’t think I can move.” His body was still trembling from the power of his climax, and he couldn’t quit smiling.

“Then don’t.” Sherlock reached behind himself, slipping a lubed-up finger in with one hand while oiling up John’s cock with the other hand. He leaned down, kissing John as he impaled himself on his cock. He’d found that the flash of pain that came with not being quite prepared made the pleasure that followed after even more intense. He rode John’s cock, repositioning himself until he found just the right angle for his own pleasure. Sighing with satisfaction, he made it last as long as he could, bringing John to the brink and then stopping, until his lover was begging for release.

“God, Sherlock… please…”, he panted, thrusting his hips upward. He wrapped his arms around him and flipped him over. His cock slipped out, and he plunged it back inside him, driving himself into his body with a growl. Fucking himself into him with long, deep strokes, he soon climaxed, filling his lover’s body with his cum. He bent low, capturing Sherlock’s lips and kissing him deeply before collapsing on top of him. “Dear God”, he panted. “I don’t think I’ve _ever_ came that hard before.”

“We’ve still got a few hours before we land…”

“You _are_ trying to kill me. There’s no way I’ll be able to get hard again anytime soon.” He grinned ruefully, thinking he probably shouldn’t have said that. Sherlock would probably take it as a challenge.

“You don’t have to get hard to orgasm again, John.” He grinned wolfishly and grabbed the lube. “Let’s get back in bed. There’s something I’d like to try.”

“I don’t know if I can even _walk_.” Sherlock grabbed his hand and hopped up, hauling to him to his feet. Still slightly wobbly, he let him lead him to the bed.

“Lie on your side.” Sherlock laid beside him. Sliding a lubed-up finger into his arse, he started to massage his prostate, pressing gently against it in a slow, spiraling motion. “I want to see how long I can make it last for you.”

“So I’m an experiment now, am I? I… _ohhh_ … God, _yesss_ …” John felt his body begin to tingle as Sherlock’s finger caressed inside him. It wasn’t long before his limbs began to tremble as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him. It seemed to last forever; one orgasm after another, until he thought he might pass out from sheer ecstasy. Gasping for breath, he could finally take no more, and had to beg Sherlock to stop.

“Was it good, John?” It took a few minutes before his panting lover could respond beyond a nod.

“That was… _insane_.” Good didn’t begin to describe it. “How… how long did we do that?”

“Almost forty-five minutes.” He grinned. “I imagine you’re dehydrated. Stay there, and I’ll get you some water.” He hopped out of bed, grabbing a couple of bottles of water from the mini-fridge beside the bed.

“Please.” He looked down, feeling a wet spot on the sheet near his cock. “Did I cum?”

“Prostatic fluid. You’re a doctor, you should know these things.”

“I’m not sure I even know my name right now.” He sat up and took the bottle with trembling hands. He downed it in a couple of gulps and laid back down on the bed, feeling more than a bit dizzy. “How do _you_ know about it?”

“The internet is our friend, John. I’ve found all kinds of interesting things we can try.”

“Not tonight; not if I’m going to live to see tomorrow.” He chuckled. “Forty-five minutes? Really?” No wonder Mary had been so enthused about him finding the g-spot, he thought. Multiple orgasms were incredible.

“Almost forty-five minutes. Forty-three, to be exact.”

“Dear God.” He grinned over at Sherlock. “I’d try it on you next, but I honestly don’t think I’ve got the strength.”

“We should shower off, don’t you think?”

“I literally can’t move right now.” He’d never felt so relaxed in his life. “Besides, I know how you are whenever we get in water.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” He slithered over closer and wrapped his limbs across John. “Best you rest up a bit, then.”

\---

Mycroft’s bedroom: (20 April, late evening)

Mycroft shivered, moaning softly as Greg leaned over him, lightly nipping at the skin behind his ear. His lover’s arm circled his waist, pulling him to his knees and guiding him onto his cock. Mycroft sighed in contentment as the thick head plunged into him. He’d enjoyed topping Greg, but having his lover inside him was still what he liked best.

Greg’s other hand circled his cock as he pushed himself deeper inside him, slowly sinking himself into Mycroft’s body. He slid himself in-and-out, watching his lover’s response until he found just the right angle for the head to press against his prostate.

 _“Mycroft_ …” Greg growled his name, his breath tickling his neck as he caressed his cock. “I’m gonna make you cum for me. Twice.” His hand moved faster, stroking Mycroft’s cock as he nibbled his neck, until his lover cried out his name, cum splattering across the sheets.

Greg pulled out and pushed him down gently on the bed, careful to avoid the wet spot. They both moaned as he slid his cock between his cheeks, slowly sheathing his full length inside him. He fucked him lovingly, teasing him until his lover writhed beneath him, waves of pleasure crashing through him. Greg picked up the pace as Mycroft orgasmed, cumming moments later. Still inside him, he whispered into his ear, his voice low and raspy. “I love you, Mycroft.”

 _“Forever,_ Greg.” Greg smiled happily, knowing it had become a way for Mycroft to say _I love_ _you_ without saying the words. He rolled off him, gathering him into his arms for a kiss. Mycroft snuggled into him, marveling at how this man had changed his life so much in just one week. He’d thought himself content being alone, but now, looking back on his life, he saw how lonely he’d been. They lay there for a while, then rose to clean up and change the sheets.

\---

Mycroft’s washroom: (20 April, late evening)

“You spoil me.” Mycroft smiled lovingly at his lover as Greg toweled him dry.

“I _like_ spoilin’ you.” He kissed his cheek and grinned happily. Mycroft had become much less self-conscious during their little clean-up ritual.  “You deserve it. Besides, it’s fun.”

“Is it, really?” A small part of him still feared Greg was only humoring him, and that he’d get tired of indulging his fastidiousness.

“Yeah. I like our little rituals.” He pulled him into his arms, kissing him again. “We’re good for each other, Mycroft.”

“I know you’re good for me. I’ve never been… happy before. I just hope I can make you as happy as you’ve made me.”

“You already have. Bein’ with you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ve been in love before, but never like this.” His deep brown eyes shone with happiness. “Now come on, lover. Let’s get some sleep while we can.”

\---

Tim’s Bedroom: (20 April, late evening)

“Andy? Does Dad know you’re calling me?”

“Fuck no, and fuck him too. Are you alright? Where are you?” Tim blinked back tears at the sound of his older brother’s voice.

“I’m fine. I’m with Uncle Greg, at his boyfriend’s house. Don’t tell Dad, okay?”

“I won’t. I’m not gonna tell him I even talked to you. He can sod off, the bastard. Uncle Greg’s got a boyfriend?”

“Yeah, they’re engaged.”

“Huh. I always just thought Dad was just being a prick when he said that shit about him. Not that I mean that there’s anything _wrong_ with it, it’s just… you know how Dad is about it. It’s like his favorite insult or something.”

“So you’re not pissed off at me?”

“Fuck no. Are you really gay or was Dad just being a prick?”

“Both”, he said softly. “You’re really not disappointed in me?”

“Nah, that just leaves more girls for me. Seriously, I mean it’s alright; you being gay. You’re my brother, Tim. I love you no matter what.”

“Thanks, Andy.” He bit his bottom lip, swallowing the sob of relief he felt. “It means a lot to me, knowing you’re okay with it. How’s Lily?”

“A brat, as usual.” He chuckled. “She’s fine. What’s he like, Uncle Greg’s boyfriend? Is he nice?”

“I guess. I think he’s just putting up with me being here for Uncle Greg’s sake, but it’s kinda hard to tell. He’s kinda… he makes me nervous. It’s not like he’s been weird or anything; he’s just really formal and stuff. He’s loaded. You should see the house, though. It’s like a museum or something. I’m afraid to touch anything. Uncle Greg seems really happy though. I can tell they really love each other.” He wanted to tell Andy about the fairies, but he’d promised not to tell anyone, and besides… it was just too fantastic. Andy would probably think he was crazy.

“That’s cool. I’ve always liked Uncle Greg. Tell him I said hello, okay? I’m just glad he was there for you.”

“Me too. I don’t know what I’d have done if he’d turned me away. Oh, and they’ve enrolled me in Westminster.”

“Westminster?” His brother let out a low whistle. “Wow. Good thing you’re the smart one in the family. Are you excited?”

“Kinda. I’m a little scared, though. I won’t know how to act, with all the posh kids. Mr. Holmes said he was gonna get me some new clothes, so I’ll _look_ right, but I know I probably won’t fit in.”

“Holmes? Isn’t that the detective Uncle Greg works with?”

“He’s his older brother. I guess that’s how they met. They don’t seem to have a lot in common; Mr. Holmes is nothing like Uncle Greg, but I guess it’s one of those opposites attract kinda things.”

“Yeah. I’m glad your mobile’s still on. I tried to call earlier, and it wouldn’t go through. I was worried Dad might have had it cut off.”

“He did, but Uncle Greg had it turned back on.”

“Good. _Fuck_ , Dad’s such a prick. Oh, hey, do you want me to try to send you your computer? I snuck it out of the bins, along with some of your other stuff.”

“That’s be great. So, he tossed out all my stuff?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry. Oh, I saved that bear for you. Should I send it too?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Tim was glad his brother couldn’t see him blushing. “I know it’s kinda silly, keeping it all these years.”

“Nah. Everybody’s got something they’re sentimental about. I’ll probably have to wait ‘til the weekend to send it, though. Look, I better go. I don’t want Dad to catch me talking to you.”

“Sure. Thanks for calling me, though. It means a lot. And for being cool with me being gay and stuff.”

“You’re my brother, Tim. That’s all that matters to me.”

\---

Challenger’s Jet, Gulfstream G650: (21 April, near dawn)

John grinned as he settled gingerly into his seat, a little sore from all the sex. Sherlock’s libido seemed indefatigable, and John was a bit proud of himself for being able to keep up with him. It seemed hard to believe that in the short span of one week, he’d gone from questioning if he could really make love to another man to happily swapping from top to bottom and back again without hesitation. He had to admit, as much as he liked topping, the multiple orgasms that came with being the bottom were fantastic.

As the aircraft began to descend, his mobile suddenly sprang to life, beeping with text and voicemail alerts. He pulled it out, alarmed, as Sherlock’s mobile followed suit. He looked at the screen, relieved to see none of them were from Mrs. Hudson. Most were from his sister Harry.

The first one read: _OMG John tell me this was for a case!!!_ John stared at the screen in horror as the attached picture loaded: him and Sherlock, kissing passionately at Lux.

“Oh dear God in Heaven…”, he muttered. “Sherlock…”

“Yes, I know. It’s all over Twitter apparently.” Sherlock looked up from his mobile, looking over at John in concern. “Are you terribly upset?”

“I’m not happy, that’s for sure.” He frowned. “It’s not as if I wasn’t going to tell everyone, but I sure as hell didn’t want to come out _this_ way.” He scrolled through the various messages unhappily. Predictably, his sister’s messages became increasingly more accusatory and garbled as the day went on. She was obviously drinking again. He winced, reading her last message: _I cant beleve you lied to me all these years THAT YOUR NOT GAY YOU GIANT POOF._

He groaned, looking at the other messages.

Mike Stanford: _Was this for a case, or is there something you want to tell me? #SherlockInLove_

Bill Murry: _I’m surprised that I’m not surprised. I guess I knew it all along, but you could have told me. Call me if you need to talk. Otherwise, I guess congratulations are in order?_

John glanced back up at Sherlock, who had put his mobile away and was just sitting there, staring at him. He reached over and took John’s hand. “I’m sorry, John.” He said softly.

“It’s alright. It’s not your fault.” He put his own mobile away, and intertwined his fingers with Sherlock’s. “It’s not how I wanted to come out, but I’m not ashamed of it either. I love you, and I don’t care if the whole world knows.”

\---


	12. Do You Believe in Magic?

Mycroft’s House: (21 April, early morning)

“Good morning, brother mine. Do come in.” Mycroft nodded a greeting to John and led them into the kitchen. “How was your trip to L.A.? Was he genuine?”

“Very much so.” Sherlock pulled the small, red leather book from his pocket and handed it to Mycroft, along with the key. “See if you can read this.” Mycroft unlocked the book and opened it. He watched, his eyes widening slightly in astonishment as the blank page suddenly resolved itself into cuneiform script. It wasn’t a language he knew, but he could read it regardless: _A Spell for the Conjuration of Ice._ He could feel the power in the words, pulsing in his mind. A satisfied smile curled at his lips.

“I presume you _can’t_ read it?”  Mycroft shut the book and locked it, slipping it into his pocket.

“It’s entirely blank to me”, he admitted reluctantly. “You’re obviously the sorcerer in the family.”

“Clearly. This is going to be quite useful. You’ve done _very_ well.” His smile widened as Greg stepped into the kitchen.

“Hi guys, good to see you back. You stayin’ for breakfast?” He greeted Mycroft with a kiss on the cheek, then stepped over to the fridge, pouring a couple of glasses of orange juice and handing one to his lover.

“No, we just stopped by on our way back to Baker street.” He turned to his brother. “I’ll send you the rest of my report when I get home. Lucifer was most… informative.”

“Don’t make any plans for this afternoon. I’d like your input on our new headquarters.” He looked pointedly at Sherlock. “And don’t forget our dinner plans, little brother.”

“Oh, is that today? I’d forgotten. Unfortunately, John and I have other plans…”

“Don’t you dare even contemplate it.” He glared at his younger brother. “I swear I’ll use every means at my disposal to have you dragged there forcibly, if need be.”

“What’s he mean, dinner plans?” John looked at the two of them in curiosity.

“Our parents are visiting.” Sherlock’s tone and expression reflected the sense of dread that the idea evoked. “Are you bringing Greg?”

“Yes. I plan on announcing our engagement.”

“Hey, congratulations!” John looked at them in surprise. “When’s the wedding?”

“We haven’t set an exact date, but three months from now.”

“I’m astonished you’re waiting that long”, murmured Sherlock. “Perhaps I should wait, and tell them about John and me later.”

“Don’t be absurd. Hashtag Sherlock in love?” Mycroft sneered at him disapprovingly. “Do you really think they won’t find out?”

“God, has _everyone_ seen that?” John glanced at Sherlock in dismay. “I’m surprised it’s not in the tabloids yet.”

“It will be tomorrow, I imagine. You have me to thank that it’s not in the press today.”

“I appreciate that, Mycroft, though the cat’s out of the bag, as far as most of my family and friends go.” John frowned unhappily. “It’s certainly not how I’d planned to come out.”

“Yeah, I’d imagine not.” Greg looked at John sympathetically. “It’s not right, outin’ people like that.” He frowned, thinking of Tim, who was still in the garden with the fairies. “We got my nephew stayin’ with us now because my bastard brother kicked him out for bein’ gay.”

Sherlock glanced over at Mycroft, raising an eyebrow, a smile curling at the corner of his mouth. _Obsessed_. Mycroft glowered at him, and then shrugged, his eyes darting towards John. _Addicted_.

“That’s a real shame. My Father’s the same way. He cut Harry out of his life when he found out she was gay. Luckily, she was already on her own, but it’s one of the reasons I don’t speak with him. I’ll never understand how a parent could be so heartless.” He sighed, then grinned suddenly. “I imagine he’ll find out about me in the press. Serves him right, too.”

“Well then, we’d best be off, John. I’m sure you’re eager to see how things went with the new nanny.”

\---

George’s Taxi: (21 April, early morning)

“You’ve never mentioned your father before.” Sherlock looked at him curiously. “If you’d rather not talk about him, it’s alright.”

“We haven’t spoken in years. To be honest, I’m not even sure he _is_ my real father. My mother said some things, before she died…” The frown lines deepened between his brows. His childhood hadn’t been a happy one, in large part due to his father’s drinking and foul temper. “He’s not a very nice man, and I’m better off without him in my life. Why didn’t you mention that your parents were coming into town?”

“Avoidance, probably. I really am dreading it. If you don’t want to come, I’d understand.” Despite his words, John could tell by the expression in his eyes that he desperately wanted him to be there.

“I’ll be there, for you. It only seems right, as Greg’s going to be there as well. Do you think they’ll be terribly upset?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a scene of some sort. It’s not going to be pleasant, John, so do prepare yourself.”

“Yeah.” He sighed, thinking of his sister. “I’m going to have to call Harry later today. She’s seen the Twitter picture.”

“I presumed so, given the number of text alerts you received when we arrived.”

“So, what do you think about Mycroft and Greg getting engaged so soon?” He looked over at Sherlock curiously. “Quite a surprise, don’t you think?”

“Not at all. I anticipated it. Mycroft’s quite predictable when he becomes obsessed.”

“Sherlock, do you… have you ever thought about it; us, getting married?”

“Are you proposing to me, John?” He arched one eyebrow, looking at John in curiosity.

“I… I know you don’t think it means much, but… I think… well, with Rosie, you know, it would be better… I…” He took Sherlock’s hand, looking into his eyes. “Yes. Yes, I am. Sherlock Holmes, will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?” He looked at him in shock, not quite able to believe his own ears. “You will?”

“Was yes not clear enough, John?” He tried to look serious, but the slight twitching of his lips gave away his amusement at John’s reaction.

“Yes, I mean…” He glanced over at George, who was doing an admirable job of pretending not to listen. “I love you.” He leaned over and kissed him. “I was just surprised, is all. I know how you feel about marriage, and I didn’t expect you to say yes so quickly.”

“It is the sensible thing to do, for Rosie’s sake. But please, let’s keep it simple, and just do it at the registrar’s.” He smiled softly. “We can save all the romantic bits for our sex holiday.”

“If that’s what you want, it’s fine with me.” John smiled happily, squeezing his fiancée’s hand. He’d already done the big wedding thing, and he couldn’t quite picture going through all that again. “Just you and me, and a few of our friends.”

\---

Mycroft’s house: (21 April, early morning)

“I’ll be right back. I gotta tell Tim breakfast’s ready.”

“I’ll go and get him.” Mycroft kissed Greg’s cheek and headed towards the garden. He found the boy surrounded by fairies, noting they were even more brilliantly-colored than before.

“Timothy, it’s time to come in for breakfast.”

“Yes, sir.” He jumped up, nervously brushing himself off and pulling his shirt straight.

“Before we go in, I’d like to have a word with you first, if you don’t mind.” Mycroft did his best to look friendly.

“Yes sir, Mr. Holmes.” Timothy looked at him anxiously, wondering if he’d done something wrong.

“Timothy, I’m not very good with… young people; or people in general, for that matter, but I’d like to put you more at ease with being here. Your uncle’s happiness means a great deal to me, and I want you to understand that you’re welcome in our home.”

“I… thank you, Mr. Holmes. I appreciate you taking me in. I can tell how much you love each other… Uncle Greg, he seems really happy.”

“I like to think so”, he said softly. “I’ll do anything it takes to insure his happiness. Given that, I think it best that you and I come to an agreement. I’m not an easy man to like, especially for a young person such as yourself, but I think, for Greg’s sake, that it might be best if there’s a bit less formality between us. You prefer being called Tim, don’t you?”

“Yes sir. Being called Timothy makes me feel like I’m in trouble or something.”

“Then Tim it is. Would it be inappropriate of me to ask you to call me Uncle Mycroft? I don’t want you to if it would make you uncomfortable, but I think it might please Greg if you did so.”

“Sure thing, Mr… Uncle Mycroft.” Tim smiled up at him. Mycroft still intimidated him, but he was glad to realize they had something in common. They both wanted his Uncle Greg to be happy.

\---

221B Baker street: (21 April, morning)

“So, how did she do? Do you think she’ll work out?” John sat in the kitchen, looking hopefully over at Mary, who was leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Definitely. Kat’s just lovely with her, and Rosie seems to adore her and Abby. I think it’ll be good for her, having a playmate her own age.” Mary smiled, happily. “I like her too. Plus, it’s nice that we’ll have a nanny that can see me.”

“I’m glad. I wouldn’t like to have to tell Mrs. Hudson we weren’t hiring her niece.” He grinned. “And I certainly don’t want to go through any more interviews.”

“John… I assume you’ve seen the Twitter post?”

“Yes.” He frowned, the lines on his brow deepening. “I’ve got a lot of explaining to do, because of that. Harry’s not taking it well, and I’ve got texts from Mike and Bill… It’s not as if I _wasn’t_ going to tell them, but I’d have much rather have done it in person and in my own time.”

“At least it’s a good picture.” Mary grinned at him. “You looked very handsome, in that suit.”

“Did I? I was too angry to notice.” He looked up at her, wondering how she’d take the news of his engagement. “Mary, there’s some things I need to tell you. Sherlock and me… we were talking about Greg and Mycroft… They’re getting married, by the way.”

“I know. I dropped by to see Greg while you were gone. We’re planning on checking out the other ghosts that the vampire mentioned, to make sure they’re not dangerous.”

“That’s good.” He took another sip of tea, working up his courage to tell her. “Anyway, Sherlock and I were talking, and I’m not quite sure _how_ it happened, but we’re… engaged.”

“You are? John, that’s wonderful!”

“So you’re happy about it then?” He’d thought she might be, but it was still a relief to hear it from her.

“Of course I am! Aren’t you?”

“Yeah, it’s just… it was very spontaneous, and frankly, knowing how he feels about marriage, I’m still in a bit of shock that he said yes.”

“I’m not.” She grinned at John.

“You’re not?”

“John, after loving you all these years, is it so surprising he wants a legal claim on you?” She laughed happily.

“He said it was for Rosie’s sake.”

“And I’m sure that’s part of it, but that man adores you. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had _property of Sherlock_ tattooed on you.”

“Yes, well, don’t give him any ideas.” He grinned ruefully. “He finds enough of those on the internet.”

“I know. I found him looking up sexy things to do before the two of you left for L.A.”

“Yeah, about that… Mary, I’ve realized something about myself. I’m not just gay for Sherlock. I’m… I’m bisexual. I just… I never let myself think about other men that way, but we… I… uh… I’m _definitely_ bi.” Mary watched John blush, turning progressively redder as he spoke.

“John!” She looked at him, surprised and curious. “Did you find some other man attractive?”

“Yes… but to be fair, he did have the power to bring out hidden desires. But as convenient as it might be to say the Devil made me see it, that wasn’t exactly… I already knew. I realized it on the plane ride over, actually.”

“You did? What brought that on?”

“I… we, uh…” He could feel his ears burning from blushing, but he knew if he didn’t tell her, Sherlock would. “I’m not strictly a top, it seems…”, he admitted nervously.

“Oh. Oh _my_.” Her eyes were wide with surprise. “You _liked_ it, then?”

“I…”, he nodded, too embarrassed to speak.

“Good for you, John.”

“You don’t… think differently of me now?”

“Of course not. Why would I? I’m proud of you for giving it a try.”

“You are?” He took another drink from his mug and smiled softly. “I’m a bit proud of myself too. It’s a hard thing to realize about one’s self at my age, but I… I’m really very comfortable with the idea that I’m bi.”

“Well, that should make it easier for you, then; coming out, I mean.”

“In a way, yeah. Which reminds me, I’ve got a few calls to make.” He looked at his mobile, wondering if it was too early to call Harry. He didn’t want to deal with her when she was still hung over. He sighed, and decided to call Mike first. He briefly considered texting him, but decided that would be too cowardly.

He called Mike and then Bill, and had been relieved that neither of them had said it would change their friendship. Mike had been more surprised that Sherlock was actually involved with someone than with John being bi. He’d laughingly remined him that he’d been the one to introduce them, and wrangled a promise from John that he’d treat him with drinks some night soon as a way of thanking him. Bill had congratulated him, and couldn’t resist teasing him a bit about John being the last to know. John sighed and reluctantly called Harry, half hoping his sister wouldn’t answer.

“Hey, Harry.”

“John. So, what the fuck was that picture all about? Were you on a case or something?”

“Yes, but the picture has nothing to do with it. It’s true, me and Sherlock. We’re in love.”

“Why would you hide something like that from _me_ , all this time?” She sounded angry, bitter, and more than a little hung-over.

“I wasn’t hiding anything. This thing with us; it’s very recent. I meant to call you; I swear I did, but…”

“But what? Why would you hide that you’re… What are you, anyway? Gay or bi?”

“I’m bi. I literally just realized it. Sherlock and me… it’s just been about a week since we got together, and I’ve only just come to terms with it. I really didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”

“Yeah, but Jesus, John, _Twitter?_ You fucking come out on Twitter before you tell me? And why didn’t you answer me when I texted you?”

“Harry, I was on a plane. I didn’t get your texts until we landed this morning. And I didn’t even know about the picture until I saw your text.”

“How could you have _not_ known you’re bi at your age? What did you do, just wake up one day and suddenly realize you like cock?”

“Actually, yeah, that’s pretty much what happened.” John sighed. “It’s a side of myself that I’ve been blind to. I really was literally almost the last one to know. I see now that I’ve been attracted to him for a long time, but I was in denial, and I really didn’t realize it.”

“What happened then? How did you come to realize it, after all this time?”

“M-… Someone made me realize that I was attracted to him, and then he kissed me… things just sort of happened naturally, after that.”

“What sort of things? So what are you, anyway? The top, I’m guessing.” She snorted contemptuously. “What are you doing, just using him for blowjobs because you can’t get a date?”

“What in the fuck is _wrong_ with you? How dare you! I’m not using him!” Furious, John resisted the urge to hang up on her. It was an effort to stop yelling, but his anger was still very obvious in his voice. “I love him, Harry, and he loves me. It’s nothing like that at all. And I’m… versatile, if you must know.”

“You? _You_ take it up the arse? Really?”

“Of all the…” He paused, counting to three in his head and trying to hold his temper. “I am not having this conversation with you.  Have I ever asked you what you do in bed?”

“John, I…”

“And another thing. We’ve had our disagreements, but when have I ever not been supportive of your sexuality?”

“I’m sorry, alright? I… Look, this is all just a huge shock to me, what with you running around all these years claiming you’re not gay, and then I see you on snogging him on Twitter… What was I _supposed_ to think?”

“You’re supposed to be supportive, like I’ve always been with you, but instead of just being happy for me, you’ve got the nerve to accuse me of using him.”

“Look, I said I’m sorry. I am happy for you. It’s just hard to understand how you couldn’t know you’re bi.”

“I know, but it’s the truth. There were always women in my life, and I just never let myself think about being with another man. Believe me, I’ve spent a lot of time in the last week sorting myself out, but I’m done with questioning myself. I’m bi, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. We’re in love, Harry, and I want to be with him forever. I’m going to marry him.”

“You’re getting married? When?”

“I don’t know. I just proposed this morning, and we haven’t set a date.”

“I thought he wasn’t the marrying type. Or the dating type, for that matter.”

“He isn’t… or he wasn’t, anyway, but he loves me. He’s loved me a long time. I think on some level, I probably did realize how he felt, but not consciously. Now I see I’ve loved him for a long time as well. I just wasn’t ready to admit it to myself.”

“Well, congratulations, I guess…” He could hear her sigh over the mobile. “I really am sorry. I had a bad night, but if you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks.” He told her goodbye and hung up, thinking how ironic it was that out of everyone he knew, Harry had been the least supportive.

\---

Undisclosed Location, Secret Base: (21 April, late morning)

Mycroft looked around the space, feeling quite pleased at the progress the work crew had made. It would still take some time before all the equipment and appointments were installed, but the space should suit their purposes admirably. It was suitably large, with one above-ground level that had a roof suitable for helicopter landings and three below, all heavily-reinforced concrete. The ground level would be disguised as a private parking garage, and would house the various vehicles they might need. The first underground level would be where the offices would be located, along with living areas, a dining area, shooting range and armory, and common areas. The second level was reserved for the various labs and research areas, and the third would contain detention cells and a large space suitable for the practice of magic.

He slid his key card into a concealed panel, accessing the retinal scan required to use the well-disguised lift, and headed down to the lowest level. The crew hadn’t began working there yet, and he flicked the lights on to reveal a cavernous space, completely devoid of furnishing with the exception of a small desk and chair. He sat down, pulling out the red leather book Sherlock had given him and perusing its pages. Some of the spells, especially those for summoning various entities, required intricate preparations and rituals. Many of them required special components, while others only required a few simple words and gestures.

He rummaged through the desk drawers and found a rusted old stapler. This should do well, he thought, to test some of the simpler spells, as would the drawer itself. He selected a spell and practiced the accompanying gestures until he was satisfied.

“ _Shiptu Sikkuru Annu.”_   He pulled at the drawer with all his strength. It didn’t budge. Delighted with his result, he turned to the counter-spell. “ _Shiptu Peta Annu.”_   Mycroft reached down, easily sliding the drawer open. He stood, taking the stapler some distance away, and returned to the desk. _“Shiptu Queberu Annu.”_ The stapler slid across the floor, stopping about a meter away. _“Shiptu Ana Aepiru Annu._ ” It slid closer, bumping lightly against his shoe. Minor spells, but potentially useful.

It was time, he thought, to try some more complicated incantations. He took the stapler to the far end of the room and returned to the desk, pulling a small box of gemstones out of his pocket. He pulled out a small, uncut diamond, and after spending about ten minutes memorizing the proper gestures, tried the spell.

“ _Kishpu Shiptu Annu Seg halba niri-a_.”  He watched in fascination as a thin white beam shot from his finger. The stapler was suddenly enveloped in a thick casing of ice, while the diamond he held disintegrated into dust. He tried lightning next, sacrificing a small citrine in the process. He wiped the sweat from his brow and decided to try one more spell, pulling out a small ruby. A burst of flame appeared, turning the shattered pieces of the stapler into melted slag.

Exhausted, he sank back into the chair, brushing the faint traces of powdered gemstone off his clothes. Magic was tiring, and he discovered he was also suddenly very hungry. He rested a few minutes, then tucked the book into his coat pocket with a sly smile, feeling very pleased with himself.

\---

Restaurant: (21 April, noon)

“You must be starvin’.” Greg grinned at Mycroft. His lover usually chose something sensible and low-calorie, but this time he’d ordered a full meal with additional sides.

“I am. Greg, there’s something I want to want to tell you about.” Mycroft’s expression was neutral, but Greg could see the sparkle of excitement in his blue-grey eyes. “I’m a sorcerer.”

“Yeah? You finally found some spells that actually work?”

“Yes. Lucifer gave Sherlock a book, which I can read but he cannot. I just tried a few of them, and they’re most effective.”

“Are you sure it’s safe?” He glanced up at his lover in concern. “Considerin’ the source, I mean.”

“I believe so. Going on the premise that Oberon’s word can be trusted, Lucifer is unable to lie. Sherlock reports that he stated he’s not evil, and that he values free will. We also have Thomas’s account of him, which seems consistent with Oberon’s claims. There is a bit of a physical cost in wielding it, however, which is reflected in my increase in appetite. It’s quite physically exhausting as well.”

“What kinda stuff can you do?”

“There’s a wide range of spells in the book. Thus far, I’ve mastered a few minor spells, such as moving objects, as well as producing lighting, ice and fire.”

“That’s incredible. You can do all that, just in one morning?” He gazed proudly at Mycroft, his deep brown eyes filled with admiration. “You’re amazin’, lover.”

“Yes, well, I still need to perform some more comprehensive testing to determine the limits of the spells, but I am rather pleased with myself.”

“Speakin’ of being pleased, I wanna thank you again for bein’ so good about Tim movin’ in with us. I’m guessin’ that calling you Uncle Mycroft was your idea?”

“I thought a bit less formality between us might ease things for the boy. I’m sure this has all been rather difficult for him. He’s quite good with the fairies, by the way. They were very brightly colored this morning.”

“Yeah, he’s a good kid. I think he’ll be fine, once he gets used to everything. It’s a big change for him, livin’ with us.”

“Yes, I imagine it must be. He seems… rather intimidated by me.”

“Yeah, you got that effect on people.” Greg smiled. In his own way, Mycroft was just as intimidated by Tim as the boy was by him. “You’ll get used to each other in time.”

\---

Undisclosed Location, Secret Base: (21 April, early afternoon)

“It’s good to finally meet you in person, Mycroft.” Thomas Challenger bared his gleaming white teeth in a smile as he shook his hand. “I do hope you’re pleased with the work done thus far.”

“Indeed. The crew has made a good deal of progress in a remarkably short amount of time.” Mycroft smiled back at him, with an expression that showed he was entirely unintimidated by their resident vampire. “Do you know everyone here?”

“With one very charming exception.” He turned to Mary, who stood beside Sherlock and John, studying him in fascination. “You must be Mary Watson. It’s a great pleasure to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

“One is inspired to conduct a small experiment, if the two of you don’t mind. Have you ever come into physical contact with a ghost, Thomas?”

“No. My ancestral ghost, as you know, is quite different from Mrs. Watson, and the other ones I’ve encountered seem to be of a much more ephemeral nature.” He extended his hand towards her. She reached out, eyes widening in surprise as he took her hand in hers, bending to kiss it. There was no sense of warmth, which wasn’t unexpected given his vampiric nature, but she could feel the coolness of his hand, and the light pressure of his lips on her skin.

“I felt that!”, she exclaimed, slightly shocked by the result and more than a little amused by the gesture, which had seemed more old-fashioned than flirtatious.

“Intriguing”, Mycroft murmured.

“My thoughts exactly. I’ve often pondered on my nature and to how it might relate to other undead.”

“And you can see her clearly? She’s not transparent to you?” Greg looked at him curiously.

“Not in the least. The only thing that visually betrays her nature to me is her lack of a shadow.”

“Well, then, if the formalities are concluded, let me give everyone a tour of the facility.” He reached the concealed panel for the lift, looking back at Thomas. “I take it the retinal scan works without difficulties for you?”

“Yes, though it’s somewhat… uncomfortable. It does do some slight damage, as I’ve noticed my vision is blurred somewhat for a few moments afterwards, but as I heal quite rapidly, I don’t think it’s a significant problem. I believe the extra level of security it provides far outweighs any discomfort on my part. I am, however, moved to wonder what accommodations we might make for Mrs. Watson’s condition.”

“Yes, as am I.” Mycroft glanced apologetically in Mary’s direction, frowning slightly at not being able to see her. “I’m sure we’ll come upon some solution, once we have the equipment in place to analyze your condition more accurately.”

Mycroft led the group through the facility, detailing the plans to them, then led them back to the top level. Sherlock had only showed interest in the labs, and John grinned the entire time, feeling a bit like James Bond.

“I’m planning on recruiting Liam Donovan to the team on Thomas’s recommendation. Between his abilities as a werewolf and his mechanical skills he could be quite an asset. Does anyone have any other suggestions as to membership in our little group?”

“Bill Wiggins might prove useful, if we can keep him clean. He’s a good deal brighter than he appears.”

“That’s hardly a recommendation, little brother.” Mycroft sneered. “He doesn’t seem at all dependable.”

“He constructed the ghost jars, can see and communicate with them, is well-versed in chemistry, and I have reason to believe he has the talent for alchemy.”

“As you, no doubt, can attest to. I will take it under consideration.”

“There’s also Craig Owens. He’s a gifted hacker, and he’s proven very helpful to me in the past.”

“I’ll look into him.”

“How about Phillip Anderson?” Greg suggested, glancing at Sherlock somewhat apologetically. “He’s a decent forensic technician, and he seems like he’s got his head together these days.”

“A good suggestion, assuming he can handle knowing about the existence of magic without becoming unhinged.” Mycroft ignored his little brother’s snort of contempt and turned to Greg. “Set up an interview at the house, and we’ll see how he reacts to things.”

\---

 

Phillip Anderson’s flat: (21 April, afternoon)

“He’s not gay. It was obviously for a case.” Phillip Anderson snarled into his mobile in irritation. “I should know. I worked with them both, and _neither_ of them are gay. You don’t even know them.”

“Fine, think what you want, but that picture was hot.”

“This is ridiculous. You’re totally wrong, Benji. They aren’t gay!”

“Think what you want, Phillip, but I bet I’m right.” She chuckled. “You still want to come over for dinner?”

“Yes, but none of this Sherlock is gay rubbish.”

“Yeah, fine. Bye. I’ll see you about eight.”

Phillip sat the mobile down, resisting his urge to toss it across the room, and stared at the picture on his computer in dismay. It couldn’t be true, could it? Dr. Watson had been married, and the only romance he knew of Sherlock being involved in was with Janine. He thought back on his interactions with the two. He’d never seen any sign that either of them were gay. They were, he decided, definitely on a case. A knock at the door interrupted his recollections. He hastily closed the page and went to the door, hoping it wasn’t his landlady, as he was behind on his rent again.

“Inspector Lestrade! Come in. What brings you by?”

“A job opportunity for you, if you’re interested.”

“With Scotland Yard?” He looked at Greg hopefully. “My therapist says I’m ready to go back to work…”

“Nah, it’s a different kinda thing. Up for takin’ a little ride?”

“Sure, just let me grab my coat.” Anderson tried to sound casual, but the prospect of finally getting back to work was exciting. She’d been good about it, but he was tired of depending on Benji’s help. It would be nice to be able to take her out for dinner for a change.

\---

Greg’s car: (21 April, afternoon)

“Where are we heading?”

“My place. There’s somethin’ you need to see, before we talk about the job.” He said a silent little prayer that Anderson wouldn’t lose his mind when he saw the fairies.

“Isn’t your place in the other direction?”

“I’ve moved in with my fiancé.” Greg couldn’t help smiling every time he said the words _my fiancé_.

“You’re getting married? Congratulations! What’s she like?”

“You know him. I’m engaged to Mycroft Holmes.”

“What? You’re kidding me! If this is some kind of joke, it isn’t funny.” His mind couldn’t make sense of the idea.

“It’s no joke, Anderson. We’re in love, and we’re gettin’ married in about three months.” He glanced over at Phillip, who was staring at him uncomprehendingly. “You got a problem with that?”

“But you’re not gay! You were married. To a woman.”

“I’m bi. I’m surprised you didn’t know. Half the department knew. I’ve never kept it a secret.”

“I… but… you and _Mycroft Holmes_. He’s…”

“He’s _what?_ Anderson, if you got a problem with us, or with Mycroft, I can turn this car around and take you right back home”, he growled, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.

“No, it’s just hard to imagine. He’s just so…” He paused, sensing that the wrong choice of word might lead to something much worse than losing a potential job. “…terrifying.”

“Yeah, I hear that a lot.” Greg sighed. “Look, I need to know right now; do you have a problem with two men bein’ in love? ‘Cause if you _do_ , this job ain’t gonna work out, and I don’t wanna waste Mycroft’s time.”

“No. I just… I really need the work.”

“Uh-huh. Be sure, Anderson. Me and Mycroft aren’t the only gay couple you’ll be workin’ with. Sherlock and John are in on this too.”

“They… they’re gay too? I saw the Twitter post, but I was sure it was for a case… How long have they been a… a couple?”

“Not long. Are you really that surprised?”

“Yes! I mean, I… I don’t have a problem with it, but…”

“But what? I swear to God, Anderson, if you’re homophobic, you better tell me now. Mycroft isn’t gonna put up with any bullshit, and neither will I.”

“I’m not… I don’t hate gay people. It’s just… I’m not gay.”

“It’s not a job requirement”, Greg said drily. “But I kinda think not being homophobic is.”

“I… I’m fine with it.” He looked over at Greg, trying to hide his discomfort. “Really.”

“Yeah, well, you better be. I recommended you for this job, so don’t make me regret it.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence, while Phillip tried to process what he’d been told. He’d gone from hating Sherlock to idolizing him to the point of obsession. It seemed inconceivable that he didn’t know the man was gay, and he was strangely disillusioned and disheartened to know that he was. He glanced over at Greg. His relationship with Mycroft was just as difficult to believe. It was hard enough to picture Lestrade with another man, but Mycroft Holmes, of all people… He and Inspector Lestrade might have had their disagreements when they worked together, but he’d always respected his integrity and character. He’d seen the job make a lot of men bitter and callous, but Lestrade was a good man. It made no sense to Anderson, and he couldn’t fathom what Greg could possibly see in a cold, calculating, manipulative creature like Mycroft.

If he hadn’t need a job so badly, he’d have backed out and asked Greg to take him home. He actually was more than a bit homophobic, and worse than that, whatever this job was, he’d obviously be working for Mycroft. He’d meant it very sincerely when he’d said Mycroft was terrifying. He shuddered, Mycroft’s words still lingering in his mind: _I can promise you on the behalf of the British security services, materials will be found on your hard drives leading to you immediate incarceration…_

He wondered what kind of job Mycroft wanted him for, guessing it was probably some top-secret government thing. Whatever it was, he decided, it couldn’t be more shocking than what he’d just found out.

\---

Mycroft’s House: (21 April, afternoon)

“What you’re about to learn of is to go no further. Breathe one word of it to anyone, and I promise you, you will regret it.” Mycroft gave Anderson his most withering glare, while Greg stood beside him, trying not to grin. Anderson was right. Mycroft was terrifying when he chose to be, and Greg thought it was dead sexy.

“Not a word, I swear.” Phillip suppressed a shudder and glanced uneasily at Greg, only slightly reassured by the inspector’s presence. He’d thought he knew Lestrade, but seeing the two of them together, he realized he really didn’t. They’d been entirely professional since he arrived, but there was something in the way they stood beside each other and something in Greg’s eyes when he looked at Mycroft, that made it clear that they were together.

“Have a seat, Anderson.” Greg gestured to the wrought-iron table and chairs that graced the small stone patio. “Mycroft, do you think maybe I should take it from here? I know you’ve got more important stuff to do.”

“Indeed.” Mycroft looked at his lover, letting a small smile curl at his lips. Anderson was far too nervous with him there for the fairies to come out. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Anderson”, Greg sighed, taking the seat across from him. “Do you believe in magic?”

“What? Of course not.” He frowned at the oddness of the question, wondering what this was all leading up to. Did Lestrade think he was mad? Was this some kind of test?

“What if I was to tell you it’s real? If I swore on my honor, as a man you’ve worked with and known for years; would you believe me?”

“But there’s no such thing as magic… is there?”

“Yeah, there is, and I got proof.”

“What kind of proof?” His brow furrowed as he stared at Lestrade. It sounded preposterous, but the inspector looked entirely serious. “Show me, then, if you’ve got proof.”

“I’m gonna try. The thing is, you gotta stay calm, when you see ‘em.”

“See who?”

“Come with me. And for God’s sake, whatever you do, don’t panic. Just stay calm and quiet, and trust me when I say they’re not gonna hurt you unless you threaten them.” Greg stood and led him into the garden, sitting in the grass near a large white hawthorn tree.

“They?” Anderson sank down to the ground beside him, looking entirely puzzled.

“Fairies, Anderson.”

“Now I know you’re having me on.”

“Just sit quiet, and you’ll see.” Greg dug through his pockets and retrieved a small packet of biscuits, rattling the cellophane as he opened it. He broke one of the biscuits into smaller pieces and placed them in the palm of his outstretched hand. With moments, a large bee appeared and landed on his shoulder. Anderson’s eyes grew wide, and he shivered.

“I’m allergic to bees…” He sat very still, afraid to move.

“Shh. He won’t sting you.” Greg held out his hand still, and the bee cautiously landed on it. It hesitated, wings twitching nervously. “It’s alright. He’s just scared of bees. I won’t let him hurt you.”

Anderson watched as the bee seemed to stare at him for a moment, then shimmered, becoming a tiny, winged humanoid covered in black and yellow fuzz. It suddenly snatched up a piece of biscuit and flew off. Anderson blinked and swallowed hard, not believing the evidence of his own eyes. It had to be a trick; some kind of remote controlled device, though he couldn’t understand how it’d changed shape like that. A moment later, another pair of insect-like creatures appeared. One, resembling a dragonfly, landed in Greg’s palm to grab another bit of biscuit and quickly fly away. The other, a rather menacing-looking wasp woman with an impressively large stinger, landed on Greg’s shoulder. Crouching, it stared at Anderson.

“It’s okay.” Greg turned his head, obviously speaking to the wasp. Anderson shuddered with horror as Greg held his other hand up so she could crawl onto his finger. “I got this.” He glanced over at Anderson. “You’re makin’ them nervous.”

“I’m making _them_ nervous?” He gawked, open-mouthed with shock as a pair of butterfly-like creatures darted out of the tree; one greenish-yellow, the other a vibrant reddish-purple with large eye-spots on its wings. They snatched up the last pieces of biscuit and fluttered away.

“Yeah. I haven’t seen her with her stinger out for a couple days. If you calm down and think peaceful thoughts, it’ll disappear.”

“You’re telling me they can read minds?”

“Nah, but they’re empathic. They can feel that you’re afraid of them. This little lady’s just here to protect her friends. If you don’t move suddenly, she won’t hurt you.” He gently placed her back on his shoulder and broke up the other biscuits, offering her a piece before tossing the others towards the tree. She made a little bow to him, then flew off.

“Come on, we’ll go inside.” He stood, helping Anderson back to his feet with a look of amusement glinting in the corner of his eyes. The man was trying to control his fear, but he was shaking and even paler than usual. “You look like you could use a drink.”

\---

221B Baker street: (21 April, afternoon)

“Make love to me, John.” Sherlock had practically pounced on John the moment they’d gotten through the door. He wrapped his arms around him and bent his head, his breath tickling John’s ear. “I need to feel you inside me. Now.” He smothered any objections John might have had with a kiss, dragging him to the bedroom.

“Rabbits”, Bill muttered, glancing at Steven, who was perched on the arm of the chair beside him. The two had finally come to an uneasy truce over a tin of biscuits, but Steven remained cautious. Bill attracted far too many ghosts for his comfort, even with the protection the jade ring gave him. He cocked his head, trying to decide what the human had meant by rabbits.

“Sherlock”, John laughed. “Slow down.” They’d barely made it through the door and Sherlock was already pulling John’s clothes off along with his own. His response was to practically rip John’s jumper off, tossing it aside. John pushed him against the wall, kissing him passionately as Sherlock’s long fingers made quick work of undoing his trousers and yanking them down, along with his pants.

Sherlock shoved him back, and John fell onto the bed, still laughing as his lover knelt in front of him, pulling off his shoes, along with the pants and trousers. He slid up between his legs, shedding his own as he did. His hands slithered under John’s shirt, caressing his skin as he nuzzled his cock. He parted his lips and swallowed him, enjoying the feeling of John’s cock hardening in his mouth and the sound of his voice, filled with desire as he moaned out his name.

John moaned, struggling to unbutton his shirt before his lover ripped it off him. Once John was fully hard, Sherlock crawled onto the bed beside him, grabbing the bottle of lube. He devoured John’s lips as he slicked up his lover’s cock, then poured the last bit of it into John’s hand. As they kissed, John’s oil-slicked fingers teased at his opening. Sherlock moaned as he slipped one inside him, stroking his prostate. His cock pressed against John’s hip, grinding into him as John slipped a second finger in beside the first.

Sherlock moved, crouching to straddle John’s hips, and sank back onto his cock, slowly impaling himself with a long sign of satisfaction. He rode him, sliding up-and-down as John thrust upwards. John looked up at his lover, and felt his heart leap at the beauty of him. A fine sheen of sweat highlighted the angles and planes of his body, his pale skin was flush with passion, and his eyes half-slit, glittering with lust. He reached up, circling his slick fingers around Sherlock’s cock, feeling the heat of in his hand as he stroked it. They made love for long, breathless moments; lost in a sea of pleasure, lost in each other, together on the edge of ecstasy.

“Oh, God, _Johnnn_ …”, Sherlock gasped. “Cum with me!” He came, splattering across John’s chest and belly. John drove himself deep inside him, climaxing with him. Sherlock stayed in place until John’s now soft cock slipped out of him. He laid beside him, clinging to him and pressing against his skin. He nuzzled into his neck, breathing in his scent. His parents were coming, and he’d needed a fix to calm himself.

\---

Mycroft’s sedan: (21 April, evening)

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this nervous.” Greg could feel Mycroft’s hand, tightening on his own as he gripped it. Mycroft had changed clothes at least three times, and apparently had one of his people tailing Sherlock and John to make sure they were en route to the restaurant. His lover might be the most dangerous man in England and a sorcerer capable of commanding lightning, but he was afraid of his own mother. Greg found it very endearing.

“I’m truly dreading this.” He straightened his already-straight tie pin for the umpteenth time. “Please don’t take anything she says personally.”

“I won’t. I know how family can be.” He looked at him sympathetically. “It can’t be worse than the toast my bastard brother gave at my wedding.”

“What happened?”

“He started with saying how queer it seemed, me gettin’ married, and went on from there. He thought he was being real clever. The second time he said poof, I pasted him one right in th’ nose.” He snorted derisively. “Knocked-him right out, blood everywhere… it was a real mess.”

\---

The Delaunay, restaurant, private dining room: (21 April, evening)

“You’ve both brought friends?” Mycroft sighed softly as his mother looked straight at him as she spoke. As usual, she’d directed her displeasure at him instead of his younger brother. He glanced at Sherlock, frowning at the smirk on his face. “I thought this was just supposed to be _family_.”

“It is. Mummy, Father… I’d like you to meet Detective Chief Inspector Greg Lestrade. My fiancé.”

“It’s an honor to meet you…” Greg’s words were cut short as she interrupted him.

“Your what?” Her lips thinned in disapproval as she glared at her eldest son. “You must be joking.”

“I assure you, I am not. Greg and I plan to be married in three months.”

“Married? You?” She stared at her son in shock, then looked suspiciously at Greg. “Why would _you_ want to marry my son?”

“Because I love him, Mrs. Holmes, and I wanna spend the rest of my life with him. Being with Mycroft’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Yes, I imagine a policeman’s…”

“John and I are engaged as well.” Sherlock wasn’t sure if he was rescuing Mycroft or Greg, but his older brother looked at him in relief. They both knew she was about to imply Greg was only with Mycroft for his money.

“What? You and John?” She looked at him in confusion. “But you… you aren’t… John’s not…”

“Gay? Of _course_ I’m gay. I am marrying a _man_ , after all.” He gave his mother an innocent smile. “John’s bi. And he’s a _doctor_. Aren’t you just thrilled?”

“You’re _both_ gay?” Her eyes darted from Sherlock to Mycroft and back again.

“Obviously”, Mycroft murmured.

“Yes, Mother, do keep up. And the news gets even better. Once John and I are married, you’ll be a grandmother. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“I…” She was, for once, entirely speechless. Her sons enjoyed the moment, knowing it wouldn’t last long. She turned to her husband. “Well don’t just sit there, Arthur. Say something.”

“Congratulations, boys. It’s good to see you both finally settling down.”

“Congratulations? But Arthur…” She looked at him in dismay, whispering. “Mycroft? You know what happened the last time.”

“The boy was only seventeen, Melissande.” He said quietly, and turned to Greg. “So tell us about yourself, Greg. You’re a Detective Chief Inspector? You’re that fellow that works with Sherlock, aren’t you? I’ve seen you in the papers.”

“Yeah, he’s been a big help to us at the Yard. I gotta say, you must be proud of your sons. They’re both good men, two of the finest I’ve ever known.”

“Yes, I am. So I take it you’ve known Mycroft for quite so time, then?”

“We met years ago, when Sherlock first started working with us.”

“So you’ve been friends a long time.” He looked at his wife, reaching over to pat her hand reassuringly. “How long have you two been seeing each other?”

“Not long, but long enough to know we’re in love.”

“Greg’s been very good for me.” Mycroft spoke with quiet pride.

“How would you know?” His mother looked at him sharply.

“Because I’m happy, for the first time in my life. Truly happy. Greg is, quite simply, the best man I’ve ever known, and I count myself as fortunate to have him by my side.” He sat up very straight, and looked her in the eye. “Regardless of rather you approve or not, we’re going to be married.”

“I never said I don’t approve. It’s all just… very sudden, and considering your history, I think I’m justified in having some doubts about your ability to know what’s best. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go powder my nose.” Arthur rose, pulling out her chair for her and watching as she walked away.

“I hope you’ll forgive my wife, Greg. She means well. She just… worries.”

“It’s understandable, Mr. Holmes. It’s gotta be a shock to her, finding out everything all at once like this.”

“Please, call me Arthur. Welcome to the family, Greg. And you as well, John.”

“Thank you, Arthur.”

“So, do you have pictures of my granddaughter-to-be?”

The rest of the dinner had passed in relative peace, save for the occasional reproachful remark from Melissande towards Mycroft. She’d ignored Greg for the most part, only addressing him when he spoke to her. She’d very pointedly welcomed John to the family, only including Greg when her husband had gently nudged her leg under the table. There was a silent but collective sigh of relief when dinner was finally over.

\---

Drury Lane: (21 April, evening)

It had risen from its hiding spot in the shadows as the sun went down, making its way to London. It could sense that both of the minds it sought were now very close, and together. It floated down the busy pavements, ignoring the lesser minds along the way, hurrying excitedly towards its prey. Soon, it would be whole again.

\---

Author’s notes: Thank you, Alexandra Gerdessus, for helping me choose a name for Mrs. Holmes!


	13. They Have Love in Common

The Delaunay, outside: (21 April, mid-evening)

“We’ve decided to stay in London for a couple of days”, Melissande announced to her boys as they stepped outside.

“Oh, that _is_ good news.” Mycroft’s voice was dripping with sarcasm.

“We have?” Arthur looked at his wife in surprise.

“I told you earlier I had some shopping to do.”

“Oh. I must have forgotten”, Arthur said indulgently. She’d said no such thing, of course, but perhaps her attitude towards Mycroft’s relationship with Greg would soften if she had a chance to get to know him.

“Mycroft!” Sherlock had a sudden, almost overwhelming sense that something was very wrong. He stepped to the corner, looking down Drury Lane. Less than ten meters away, he could see a vaguely man-shaped cloud of fog heading towards them. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and his eyes widened in alarm. He knew, without doubt, that whatever it was, it was dangerous. He felt a strange pressure in his mind, reminding him of his experiences with Oberon and Lucifer. “There, on the pavement!”

“What th’ hell is that?” Greg reflexively reached for a gun that wasn’t there. “I can’t sense it. It’s not a ghost.”

“Something deadly. Mycroft, it wants _us_.” His brother stepped beside him, watching it pass impeded through the streetlight. Physical attempts at defense would obviously be useless. There was only one thing Mycroft could think of that might possibly stop it.

“Mummy, give me your wedding ring!”

“What? Why? What is that thing?”

“Now, Mother! Quickly!” He’d never used that tone of command with her, and she pulled it off her finger without further questioning. She watched with increasing alarm as the creature closed in on them. Greg grabbed her arm, pulling her back, away from the danger. She watched in horror while the creature drew nearer to her sons. It was now only a meter away from them. A chill went through her as her eldest stepped towards it, quickly making a series of odd gestures with his hands.

 _“Kishpu Shiptu_ _Seg halba niri-a.”_ Mycroft pointed towards it and a slender white beam flowed from his finger, striking the creature. It stopped, letting out a silent scream of rage as ice engulfed it. “Greg, clear the street!”

“On it.” He stepped forward, shouting to the startled passers-by on the pavement. “Scotland Yard! Clear out, now!”

Mycroft pulled out his mobile and stepped aside to make a call. He wanted this thing cleared away as quickly as possible. Hopefully, if his underlings could move fast enough, he could keep the story from reaching the press.

“What is that thing? How did you know it was there?” John reached out, putting his hand on Sherlock’s arm. He could feel his lover trembling, although he was outwardly calm.

“I don’t know. I just… sensed it, somehow.” His brow furrowed. “I suspect I have some sort of psychic ability. I can still… feel it, hungering.”

“Hungering? For what?”

“For Mycroft… and me. Specifically.” He took a few steps closer, staring at it intently. “It wants our minds, John. Whatever it is, it feeds on intelligence.”

“Mycroft, what just happened? How… how did you do that?”

“It’s a long story, Mother. I apologize about your ring, but I had no choice.” He handed her back her ring, now sans its diamond. “I’ll see it’s replaced tomorrow.”

“The diamond…”, she stared at the ring, trying to understand what had happened. “Where did it go?”

“It disintegrated.” He sighed softly. “I’ll explain it later.” His sleek black sedan pulled up beside them. “Please just go to your hotel.”

“Son, I think you mother and I deserve some sort of explanation. How did you do that ice thing? Was that some sort of new secret weapon? What was that thing that was after you? There’s no way we can just go back to the hotel without knowing what happened here.”

“Fine. Take the car back to my house, and I’ll explain when we get there.” He frowned unhappily at the prospect, but he didn’t have time to argue. “Please, just take Mummy away from here in case there’s some further danger.”

\---

Mycroft’s Sedan: (21 April, mid-evening)

“Arthur, what do you think happened back there?” She glanced down at her ring in dismay. “What was that thing? Sherlock said it was deadly, and it was after our boys.”

“I don’t know, Meli.” He said softly, taking her hand in his. “I’m sure Mycroft will explain. Right now, there’s something more important I’d like to talk to you about.”

“More important? What could possibly be more important?”

“Meli, whatever happened back there, the boys seem to have the situation well in hand. I want to talk to you about Mycroft and Greg. I know you have doubts, but don’t you think you were a bit hard on the boy?”

“But you know what happened the last time…”

“That was a _very_ long time ago. He was just seventeen, and woefully inexperienced in the ways of the world. He’s a grown man now. Besides, I rather like this Greg fellow.”

“You don’t even know him.”

“No, but the boys have known him for years. Didn’t you notice the way they look at each other? He loves our son, and Mycroft loves him. Why is that so hard to believe? He’s been alone for so long. I think he’s punished himself enough. Do you really want him to spend the rest of his life alone?”

“I… Of course I don’t. I just… I don’t see what they could possibly have in common.”

“Love, Meli. They have _love_ in common, just like another mis-matched couple I know.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “It was enough for us, wasn’t it?”

\---

Mycroft’s lounge: (21 April, late evening)

“Mycroft, before you explain what all that was about, I’d… I’d like to apologize to you, and to you as well, Greg.” She looked at her son, her expression softening. “I really am glad you’re happy.”

“…” Mycroft stared at his mother, momentarily speechless and suddenly deeply moved. He could count the times she’d sincerely apologized to him on one hand and still have five fingers left. He took a sip of his scotch, composing himself before he spoke. “Thank you, Mummy. I appreciate that, very much.”

“So do I, Mrs. Holmes”, Greg added quietly, gathering from the subtle expression on his lover’s face how much her words had meant to him.

“Well then… What was all that? What was that thing?”

“We don’t know yet. An… entity of some sort.” Mycroft took another drink and sat his glass on the table beside him. “I know this is going to be difficult to accept, but in the last few months, magic has become real.”

“Magic? How is that possible?” She looked at him incredulously. “Are you joking?”

“I’m afraid it’s all too true. All we really know is that magic was sealed away three thousand years ago, and that seal has now been broken. It’s all very recent, but the number of… incidents like that are becoming increasingly common. It’s only a matter of time before it’s public knowledge, and we’ve been trying to put together a team of individuals to deal with it.”

“Then what you did back there, the ice… that was magic?” Arthur looked at his son in astonishment. “You’re some kind of… of wizard?”

“I prefer sorcerer, but yes, I am. Unfortunately, that particular incantation requires a diamond for it to activate. I do apologize about your ring.” He glanced towards his Mother, who waved dismissively about the ring.

“That’s not important now. All that matters is that the two of you are safe. I heard Sherlock say that thing was after you. Why?”

“He says it was after our minds. Somehow it feeds on intelligence.” He repressed a shudder, horrified by the idea.

“And Sherlock, is he a sorcerer as well? Are you all sorcerers?”

“No, Mummy. Sherlock is apparently psychic to some degree, and Greg is a medium.”

“A medium?” She glanced at Greg in surprise. “You can call up ghosts?”

“Sorta. I’m still getting’ the hang of it.”

“Then Sherlock… that’s how he knew it was coming, and what it was after? Because he’s psychic?”

“Apparently, yes. As I said, this is all very recent. I know this must be very alarming, but I assure you we’ve made great strides forward in our understanding in the last week. I have every confidence that the situation will be well in hand by the time the world at large realizes the truth.”

“I’m sure you will, son.” Arthur smiled proudly at Mycroft, then patted his wife’s knee. “Well, Meli, now that’s all settled, I think we’d better get back to the hotel.”

\---

221B Baker street: (21 April, late evening)

“Then it’s not a supernatural creature?” Sherlock paced restlessly around the kitchen, talking on his mobile to Lucifer while John made tea.

“I’m not saying that, detective. I’m saying that I’ve seen nearly every sort of creature over the millennia, and what you describe doesn’t fit with any of them. It’s certainly nothing from the nether realms, I can assure you of that… though by what you’ve said, it may well belong there.”

“I thought you were an expert.”

“And I _am_. There are a number of creatures that feed on mental energies, but the physical description doesn’t match up in the slightest, just as there are a lot of mist-like beings, but none that feed in that manner. I’d say you’re dealing with something entirely new, which is surprising at this stage in things.”

“Why?”

“Because the seal’s still partially intact. New types of creatures require some event or entity to create them. Any Power in the Endless realms with a motive to prey on human minds already has creatures capable of it; there’d be no point in expending the energy to create something new. Opening a portal would be far easier. It takes a great deal of energy to create an entirely new species, and it’s unlikely that any human has that kind of power as yet. The most likely explanation is that it was somehow created accidently, when you lot cracked the seal. Have you discovered how it happened yet?”

“Nothing definitive, but it could be linked to an explosion of unknow origin that occurred in a lab. Does the seal have a physical tie to a specific geographical location?”

“No, but whatever happened must have occurred either along a ley line or where the potential for a Way exists.”

“There was definitely a Way open at that location very soon after the incident.”

“Then I suggest you seek your answers there. Your creature’s most likely tied to that.”

“The Way that existed there was recently closed. Could that be related to the creature’s sudden appearance?”

“It’s possible. Do you know what realm the Way was connected to?

“Faerie.”

“Only certain beings outside of the realm of Faerie can use their Ways. If it was formed when the seal was broken, it could have been trapped between worlds within the Way. Closing the Way would have expelled it back to this world.”

“Thank you, Lucifer. You’ve been most helpful.”

“Any time, detective. And do let me know when you’ve changed your mind about that three-way.”

“That’s not going to happen, Lucifer.”

“Never say never, detective.” Sherlock could hear him laughing softly as he hung up.

“So, are you any closer to knowing what that thing was?” John handed him a mug of tea and followed him into the lounge.

“Possibly, but I need more data.” He set his mug down and flung himself into his chair with a long melodramatic sigh. “One of the three…”, he muttered.

“Three?” John sipped his tea, looking at Sherlock curiously. “Three what?”

“Scientists who may have been conducting whatever experiment that started this whole mess.” He groaned miserably. “I think I know which one. Vincent Nemor.”

“Then _what_ is the problem?”

“I don’t know _how_ I know it’s him. It’s just… an impression. It won’t do. It won’t do at all, John. I don’t _like_ this psychic business. What good is knowing if I don’t see?” He leaned back, staring at the ceiling in exasperation.

“It probably saved your life… and Mycroft’s. Without your warning…” He shuddered, thinking of how close he’d come to losing him. “I couldn’t bear losing you”, he said softly.

“That was different. I could feel the creature, physically… something pressing against my mind, like with Oberon and Lucifer. That’s just a new way of seeing, and I can accept that, but this… this is just… unsettling. How do I know I’m right if I can’t see? There’s no logic to it. I just think it was Nemor, but there’s no proof. No reason I can give for thinking it’s him.” He snorted derisively.

“Maybe you got some sort of… subconscious impression of it at the same time.” John sighed quietly. Only Sherlock would be attacked by some murderous, mind-eating fog creature and find _this_ the upsetting part. “At least it gives you some sort of starting point you can work backwards from.”

“Possibly.” He frowned, raising his head to look at John. “But it takes all the fun out of it”, he muttered petulantly.

“Why don’t you just worry about it in the morning? I can think of some things that _are_ fun…”

“Oh?” Despite his irritation, a small smile curled at the corner of his lips, and he raised one eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Like this.” He stood up, walking over to Sherlock and dragging him to his feet. John pulled his head down for a deep, lingering kiss. His hand slid down, caressing the front of his lover’s trousers. He grinned and reached around him, squeezing his arse as he pressed his body against Sherlock’s. “You made me get off for forty-three minutes. I wonder how long _you_ can stand it?”

“There’s only one way to find out…”

“Then come to bed.” He laughed softly. “I need data, Sherlock.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s Bedroom: (22 April, early AM)

“I’m really proud of you, lover.” Greg wrapped Mycroft in his arms, pulling his head down for a kiss. “You’re a brave man, Mycroft… and one hell of a sorcerer.”

“I’ve always thought bravery to be a form of stupidity. I simply didn’t see any other choice. We’re all just fortunate that I happened to learn that particular spell this morning, and that there was a diamond handy.” He frowned at his own lack of preparedness and made a mental note to never be caught without the necessary gemstones again.

“You really don’t know how to take a compliment, do you?” Greg looked sadly at his lover, caressing his face lovingly.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much experience with _genuine_ compliments. In my line of work, there’s always some ulterior motive attached to them.”

“Yeah, well not with me. The only thing I want from you is your love.”

“You already have that. _Forever_ , Greg. I may not be able to _say_ it…” He smiled slyly, leading his lover to the bed. “…but I can think of some rather good ways to show you.” He laid on the bed, pulling Greg down on top of him.

“Sex isn’t the only way you show it, lover, but it’s definitely my favorite.” Greg grinned and grabbed the lube from the table beside the bed. He began kissing his way slowly down his lover’s body until he reached his already straining cock. Dripping some oil into his palm, he slicked up his fingers. Greg’s tongue flicked out, lapping up the drop of pre-cum that glinted in the slit as he fondled Mycroft’s balls, rolling them in his slick fingers. His lover moaned softly as he wrapped his other hand around the base, lips tightening around the crown as he sucked it into his mouth.

“Greg…” Mycroft’s fingers clutched at his lover’s short silver hair as he felt the wet heat of Greg’s mouth engulfing his cock. His lover growled, a low soft rumble that sent shivers through his whole body. Slick fingers glided across the smooth skin behind his balls, teasing their way between his cheeks and caressing his hole. He sighed softly as one slid inside him, massaging his prostate with gentle spirals as Greg slipped another finger in.

Greg swallowed as much of him as he could, then slowly slid back up, milking another drop of pre-cum from him before swallowing him again. His tongue slithered across the underside of his lover’s cock as he sucked him, while his fingers tightened at the base, just enough to keep him from cumming. He felt Mycroft’s body begin to shiver as he caressed his prostate.

“Oh, Greg… yesss…”, he moaned. Waves of bliss traveled through his body as he writhed on the sheets, overwhelmed by pure, carnal pleasure. Greg kept it up for long, delicious minutes, until his own cock ached with need. When Mycroft was ready, arching into his touch and begging, he pulled his fingers out, kissing his way up his lover’s body. He pressed his cock against Mycroft’s, leaning down to whisper in his ear.

“You want me in you, Mycroft? Do you want my cock inside you?”

“God, yes…”, he panted. “Please… fuck me, Greg.” He’d noted how much it turned on his lover to hear him say things like that, and he had to admit to himself that the sense of embarrassment he felt saying it turned him on as well, although he didn’t quite understand why. “I want to feel your cock deep inside me.”

Greg grabbed a pillow, shoving it under the small of his lover’s back as Mycroft wrapped his trembling legs around his waist. He lined up his cock, slowly pressing it through the tight ring of muscle until it was fully sheathed inside his lover’s body.

Mycroft moaned with pleasure. In many ways, this was his favorite part of making love; that exquisite first moment when he could feel his lover’s cock filling his body. Greg began to move and he moaned again as the thick head slid across his prostate. His legs wrapped tighter around his waist, his thick cock prodding against his lover’s body as he fucked him. The low, guttural grunts Greg made as he pumped into him were incredibly erotic to Mycroft, and his whole body shivered in orgasmic delight.

“Oh, FUCK! GREG!”, he shouted.

Greg growled through gritted teeth, trying to keep cumming for as long as he could, wanting to prolong his lover’s orgasm. Finally, he could hold off no more, and he erupted volcanically with a loud roar, filling his lover’s body with his seed. He drove himself in deep, emptying himself into his beloved’s eager body, then fell beside him, smiling happily at Mycroft, love filling his eyes. His eyes traveled down to his lover’s still-hard cock and his grin widened. Panting, he leaned over, capturing his lover’s lips for a deep, lingering kiss. His fingertips traced the vein running up the shaft of Mycroft’s cock.

“Beautiful…” He murmured. “I want this beautiful cock inside me, lover.”

“I think…”, Mycroft gasped, “…that can be arranged.” Smiling, he reached across Greg, stealing a kiss as he grasped the bottle of lube. Greg rolled over on his belly, arching his arse into his lover’s touch as Mycroft’s long fingers toyed at his entrance.

“You have a magnificent arse, Greg.” He slid a finger inside him, seeking the gland. His lover made a deep, growling purr of pleasure as he found it.

“ _Ohh_ … Not as nice as yours.”

“Do you _really_ think so?” Mycroft arched one eyebrow curiously, looking at his lover as he slid a second finger in beside the first.

Yeah, it’s… _ohhh_ … spec-fucking-tacular.” His deep brown eyes were almost black with pleasure and filled with sincerity and love. “It’s bloody gorgeous; your arse.”

Mycroft knelt behind him, quickly spreading oil on his cock. He drove it in hard and fast, knowing Greg liked a little pain mixed with his pleasure.

“Christ, _yesss_ … oh _fuck_ … Fuck me, Mycroft!” His lover happily obliged, hammering deep into him. Greg’s hands grasped at the sheets, his body bucking eagerly into Mycroft’s thrusts. Pain and pleasure mingled into one glorious sensation as the thick head of Mycroft’s cock slid across his prostate, over-and over again, until his body shook from the power of his orgasm.

“Oh, God, Greg!”, Mycroft gasped. He shoved his cock in as far as it would go, his long fingers digging into his lover’s hips as he reached his apex, cumming hard. Time seemed to stand still as he squirted deep inside him. Finally exhausted, he slumped across his lover’s sweat-slicked back and slid off to lie beside him, panting for breath. Greg rolled onto his side, kissing him passionately. He grinned happily, thinking that Mycroft had gone from being unsure and inexperienced to astonishingly good at it in a very short time.

“God, you’re beautiful. I love you, Mycroft. Forever, lover.”

“Forever.”

\---

Sherlock and John’s Bedroom: (22 April, early AM)

 _“Please_ … John!” Sherlock was trembling, his skin flushed and covered by a light sheen of sweat as John’s fingers caressed his prostate, pressing against it in slow, maddening spirals. His senses were nearly over-loaded by the constant orgasms flowing over him, one after another.

“Please what?” John knelt between his legs, enjoying the spectacle of his lover losing all control. His own cock was straining with need, but as much as he wanted inside him, he loved seeing him like this; completely undone and lost in the rapture of orgasm, eyes glittering with lust and hands clutching desperately at the sheets.

“Fuck me… God, John, _please_ …”, he gasped. “I _need_ your cock inside me…”

“Are you sure?” John loved making him beg. He glanced at his watch, grinning as Sherlock writhed under his touch. “It’s only been twenty-seven minutes…”

“Yes… please, _John_ … Oh, God, John… _please_ fuck me…” His long fingers entwined in John’s hair, tugging as gently as his desperation would allow.

“Well then, I guess I’d better do something about that.” John pulled his fingers out, loving the little whimper of need Sherlock made. He crawled up his body, spreading a bit of oil on his cock as his lover wrapped his long, trembling legs around him. He reached down, teasing the head of his cock against Sherlock’s opening. He felt Sherlock’s hips lunging upwards, seeking to drive him inside.

“Please, John… Now!” Sherlock’s breath came out in one long sigh of satisfaction as John pushed inside him, slowly burying the full length of his cock inside him.

“Oh, God, Sherlock…” He could feel the tight ring of muscle convulsing around the base of his cock as Sherlock dug his heels into his ass, locking him in place for a moment, then releasing him. “It feels so good, being inside you.”

“Fuck me hard, John.” His tone was both pleading and commanding, and his magnetic eyes locked on John’s, pale circles of blue-grey almost eclipsed by his pupils. John pulled out all the way, then slammed himself back in with a low growl. He took him almost roughly, rapidly pounding himself into the slick heat of his lover’s body. He felt his orgasm building, and he tried to hold it off as long as he could, but it was so hot and tight and Sherlock was so incredibly beautiful, writhing beneath him. Sherlock called out his name, propelling him over the edge. John slammed into him one final time, emptying himself into his lover’s body with a loud cry.

“Dear God, my love…” He panted, chest heaving. He would have fallen to the side, but Sherlock’s legs were still wrapped around him, one heel dug into his cheeks, pinning him in place.

“Don’t pull out.” Sherlock smiled at him, glancing down at his own still-erect cock. “Touch me, John. Make me cum with your cock still inside me.”

John reached down, eliciting a soft moan from his lover as he tweaked one nipple. He rubbed his hand across Sherlock’s smooth, firm belly, coating it in the fluid his lover had leaked when he’d fingered him. Wrapping it around Sherlock’s hard, taut cock, he looked deep into his eyes.

“I love to watch you cum.” His hand slid up-and-down, picking up speed as he caressed Sherlock’s cock. “You’re so beautiful…”

“God, John…”

“Cum for me, my love.” He watched Sherlock’s face transform as rapture overcame him, and he marveled at the sheer beauty of the man he loved. Sherlock came hard, spraying long ropes of hot cum across John’s chest as he cried out his name. As the last of Sherlock’s orgasm splattered across his skin, John collapsed on top of him, drawing him in for a kiss.

“I love you, John”, Sherlock murmured softly.

“I love you too.” His arms tightened around him possessively as he thought how close he’d come to losing him earlier. “I love you so much.”

\---

Mycroft’s Washroom: (22 April, early AM)

“Shh, lover.” Greg swallowed Mycroft’s protest with a kiss. “As sexy as you are in those suits of yours, you’re even sexier out of them. Just look at that arse.”

“I…” He turned his head, reluctantly looking at his reflection. “It has freckles”, he said disparagingly.

“Sexy freckles. Every fuckin’ inch of you is sexy, Mycroft Holmes.” He turned him in his arms so that Mycroft was facing the mirror and nibbled at his neck.

“Even the extra ones at the middle?” He frowned discontentedly at his reflection. No matter how many years had gone by or how much weight he’d lost, he still saw himself as fat.

“What extra inches?” Greg reached around him, stroking his cock as he nibbled on his shoulder. “You mean _these_ extra inches?”

“No, I…”, he glanced down at the organ in question, which was half-hard from Greg’s ministrations despite his uncomfortableness in the brightly-lit, mirrored washroom.  He’d deliberately ignored it until Greg came along, and this was the first time he’d really looked at it in that way. “I suppose it is a bit… good.”

“A bit?” Greg’s breath tickled at his neck as he chuckled. “It’s bloody fantastic, is what it is. I love it when you ram this big, thick cock up my arse.”

“I have noticed you seem to like it when I get a bit… rough with you. You’re always very gentle with me, though. Is that _really_ what you prefer, or are you just treating me more delicately because I’m… inexperienced?”

“A little of both, I guess.” He shrugged, nipping lightly at Mycroft’s neck. “I could get rougher with you if you _wanted_ , but what I like is pleasin’ you. Do you _want_ me to get rougher?”

“No, I just wondered if there’s anything that we don’t do that you might like to try…” His eyes grew wide as Greg knelt behind him, pulling his cheeks apart. “What are you..?” He shivered as his lover’s warm, wet tongue slid across his hole.

“You like that?” He teased the entrance with his tongue, sliding it across the sensitive nerves.

“Yes, but…”, he moaned softly. Slightly weak in the knees, he clutched the countertop for support. “…is it sanitary?”

“I just cleaned it.” Mycroft shivered again, remembering the delicious sensation when Greg had slipped a warm, soapy, flannel-clad finger into him.

“Yes… you were… _Ohh_ …” He gasped as the tip of Greg’s tongue probed his hole. “… _very_ thorough.” Greg’s talented tongue found every nerve ending, sliding in-and-out of him, then circling the sensitive skin of the rim until Mycroft was nearly feverish with desire. Greg rose to his feet, kissing his way up his back.

“You want my cock again, lover?” He whispered in his ear, voice harsh with desire as he pressed his cock against Mycroft’s arse cheek.

“God, yes.”

“Go get the lube.” Greg nibbled at that spot on his neck, making him shiver again. He grabbed the mouthwash, watching his lover’s arse with an appreciative grin. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d called it gorgeous.

“Greg, I…” Mycroft stepped back into the washroom, and whatever he’d been about to say evaporated in his mind. Greg was leaned against the countertop, rubbing his rock-hard cock with one hand, and Mycroft eyed his lover admiringly. “Dear God. You are a stunningly handsome man, Greg.”

“Yeah? Come here with that sexy ass.” Mycroft walked over to him, circling Greg’s cock with his long fingers and kissing him passionately. Greg took the lube from his hand and poured it into his palm, warming it before he spread it on his fingers. “Lean on the counter, lover.”

Feeling suddenly very self-conscious, Mycroft turned and placed his hands on the countertop, looking down so he wouldn’t see his own reflection in the mirror. He felt Greg’s lips, pressing tenderly against his shoulder as his oil-slicked fingers trailed down his crack and teased his opening. He moaned as one slid smoothly inside him, pressing gently against his prostate.

“Spread those long legs a bit more, lover.” Greg slid a second finger in as he nibbled on the nape of his lover’s neck. Mycroft leaned into his lover’s touch, seeking to drive them in deeper. Greg smiled as the ring of muscles spasmed around his fingers. “Hungry for it, aren’t you?”

“Very. I want you to fuck me, Greg.” Mycroft felt his face growing hot with embarrassment and he wondered again why it turned him on so. Then he felt Greg’s cock pressing into him and all thoughts were driven from his mind. His lover’s hand went around his waist, dipping lower to grasp his very eager cock.

“You are… _ohhh_ … so fuckin’ sexy…” His free hand grasped Mycroft’s hair, gently raising his head. “Look how hot you and your big cock are.”

Mycroft hesitantly looked in the mirror, his eyes automatically focusing on Greg. He met his lover’s gaze in the mirror, blushing as he forced himself to look at his own reflection. While he still couldn’t see himself as sexy, an unexpected thrill ran through him as he watched his lover jerking him off. Greg shifted his angle, and Mycroft moaned as the head slid across his prostate. He picked up the pace, his hand moving in perfect rhythm to the thrusting of his hips.

“Oh, God… Greg…” His hands clenched tighter on the countertop as he felt his orgasm building. “I’m going… to cum.”

“Mycroft…”, Greg growled through gritted teeth, staving off his own orgasm through sheer force of will. “Cum _with_ me.”

“Oh, God, _Greg_ … _Fuck!”_   Mycroft erupted in Greg’s hand as he felt the heat of his lover’s seed pouring into him. Even with his vision a bit blurred from the power of his orgasm, watching it in the mirror was intensely erotic. He could see the intense look on Greg’s face as he came and the sight of his own cock, spurting in his lover’s hand. Greg’s now limp cock slipped out of him and Mycroft turned, pressing his lips to his lover’s.

“Forever.” He murmured softly.

“Forever, my love.” He tightened his arms around Mycroft, nuzzling into his neck. “Now let’s get you cleaned off again.” Greg smiled happily. His gently persistent campaign to get his lover more comfortable with his own body was going wonderfully.

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s bedroom: (22 April, early AM)

“Greg…” Mycroft snuggled in closer as Greg spooned against him and wrapped his arm around him. “What I wanted to ask you about earlier, before you so ably distracted me… Are you truly satisfied with our sex life?”

“Yeah, lover.” Greg tightened his arms around him. “It’s fantastic, every time. I haven’t had this much sex in years, but you turn me on so damn much I can’t keep my hands off you. Are you satisfied?”

“Very much so. Not that I have anything to compare it to; nothing pleasant, anyway, but I do wonder at times… do you ever miss being with a woman?”

“Nah. I love _you_ , Mycroft. Love’s never been about gender to me, and besides…”, he chuckled softly. “It’s been a long time since I was with a man as well-endowed as you. I think I kinda forgot how much I like getting fucked, ‘til you and that big cock of yours reminded me.”

“Is it really that much bigger than average?”

“Yeah, and it’s good and thick too. I mean, I’ve always been proud of mine, and it’s just a bit bigger than average. You gotta be at least seven inches, and if I remember my statistics right, that puts you up in the top ten percent.”

“You know the statistics on penis sizes?”, he asked with amusement.

“I got curious and looked it up a while back. Most guys wonder how they measure up.”

“I never even thought about it until now. I honestly never paid much attention to it. I was _entirely_ celibate until you came along.”

“You mean you didn’t even… wank it?”

“No. I suppressed those urges a very long time ago… or I thought I had, until that night when you… comforted me. I have to admit, it terrified me more than a bit, when I discovered how… aroused you made me.” He smiled, thinking back to the night Greg had found him sobbing under his desk, covered in powdered sugar and donut crumbs. He’d sat on the floor beside him, pulling him into his arms and letting him cry on his shoulder without questioning him, patiently soothing him until he was ready to talk.

“It scared me a bit too. Not the gettin’ turned on part… I’ve thought about you for a long time, but when I kissed you on the forehead and you just froze up… I was kinda worried for a moment there you might never speak to me again.”

“I froze because I found myself getting aroused for the first time in years. It was terrifying, but it did help distract me from my little break down. Looking back on it, I think I subconsciously wanted you to comfort me. It’s not at all like me to let myself get caught in a compromising position.” He turned his head, looking back at his lover curiously. “Have you really thought of me for a long time?”

“Yeah. When we met, I was still married so I tried not think about it, but I definitely noticed how sexy you are. Once I got divorced, I still I tried not to fantasize about you because you’re so damned observant, but sometimes, late at night, I couldn’t help myself.”

“Really? That’s very… flattering.” He felt himself blushing. “It’s quite erotic, imagining you thinking of me and… touching yourself in that way. Has the reality lived up to your fantasies?”

“It’s way better. Bein’ with you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Mycroft. You’re the sexiest man I ever met, and you’re the love of my life. Forever, lover.”

“Forever, Greg.” He smiled contentedly and drifted off to sleep in his lover’s embrace, thinking of all the wonderful ways his lover had changed his life for the better.

\---

221B Baker Street: (22 April, morning)

“Nothing in the press, then?” John settled in his chair with his mug of tea and looked over hopefully at Sherlock, who was surrounded by a scattered assortment of papers.

“Nothing about _last_ night. Mycroft’s people were quite efficient.” He tossed a folded copy of The Sun over to John. “Page two.”

“ _Hat Detective Plays Doctor._ ” John growled as he read the headline under his breath. He glared at it for a moment, trying to decide how angry to be. “Christ”, he muttered, staring at the picture. “I guess we’re _definitely_ out now.”

“Is that a problem, John?” Sherlock’s keen eyes surveyed him over the paper he was skimming through, looking for signs of regret. John had been surprisingly strong throughout it all, facing and overcoming his fears and phobias, but Sherlock worried that being outed to the general public might be his breaking point.

“I…” He hesitated for a moment, looking down at the picture again and sighing in resignation. “At least it’s a good photo. Do you think I should say something on the blog?”

“It’s entirely up to you.”

“Would you mind if I just announced our engagement? It might be best, just to put an end to whatever rumors and speculation are out there.”

“Mind? Why should I mind?” Hidden behind the paper, he grinned happily.

John grabbed his laptop and settled back into his chair. Somewhat reluctantly, he went to his last blog entry, a bit concerned by what recent comments might have been left. He decided it might be best not to read them and began a new entry. John stared at the screen, wondering what to write. After all the years of denying he was gay, should he explain himself? He deliberated the question for a while, writing and erasing various versions. Finally, he decided it wasn’t his responsibility to explain himself, and that keeping it simple was for the best.

_I’m proud to announce that Sherlock and I are very much in love and are engaged to be married. We haven’t set a date yet, but plan on a quiet ceremony in the near future. For those of you who offer your congratulations, thank you. If you plan on leaving negative comments, just keep them to yourselves and quit following my blog._

\---

Mycroft’s House: (22 April, morning)

“Alicia, thank you for accepting my invitation on such short notice. Do come in.” Mycroft smiled graciously, hoping he hadn’t overestimated Lady Smallwood’s support. While he’d been able to keep the news of last night’s events from the general public, it wouldn’t be long until someone leaked it to other members of the council. He escorted her to the back patio, making the usual pleasantries.

“Tea?”

“Yes, thank you. What’s this all about, Mycroft?” She raised one elegant eyebrow, looking at him curiously. She’d never been invited to his home, so whatever he had to discuss must be both private and important.

“A rather… unusual and alarming security matter has developed, one I thought it best to confer with you about privately before I inform the rest of the council.”

“You do realize, of course, that this is highly irregular?”

“Obviously. The nature of this problem, however, is highly irregular. It’s something that’s going to be very difficult to believe, and I needed to get definitive proof before I shared it with anyone. Alicia… do you believe in the supernatural?”

“Of course not. Don’t be ludicrous.” Her brow knitted as she gazed at him in concern. This was the last thing she’d expect from the ever-logical Mycroft Holmes. “Is this some sort of joke?”

“What would you say if I told you I have irrefutable proof that magic does indeed exist.”

“Mycroft…” She quietly concluded that he’d finally gone mad, and she chose her words carefully. “You’ve been working very hard.”

“I’m not mad.”

“No, of course not, but stress can do strange things to the mind…”

“Before you make any assumptions, let me show you proof.” He pulled a small box from his pocket. “Choose some item from the table and place it about three meters away, anywhere on the patio.”

“Mycroft, this is…”

“Humor me, Alicia. If you don’t believe me after I’ve shown you what proof I may, then I’ll quietly submit to a psychiatric evaluation.” He slipped his suit jacket off and removed his cuff link, rolling up his sleeve.

“If you insist…” She did as he directed, sitting her tea cup down and backing away from it, trying to look calm. Lady Smallwood knew enough about his sister to know that when a genius of his level became mad, they could also become very dangerous. She was one of the few people in the world who was aware of what kind of training Mycroft really had. If he wanted to, she had no doubt he could easily snap her neck. Humoring him seemed the safest course of action.

“You may wish to sit down.” She sat in her chair, watching as he removed something from the box and made a series of quick, strange gestures with his hands _. “Kishpu Shiptu Seg halba niri-a_.” A slender beam of white shot from the tip of his finger, striking the cup and enveloping it in ice.

“What… what did you just do?” She looked at him, eyes wide with shock.

“Ice magic. Examine it for yourself.”

“But…” A thick coating of ice covered the cup. “It’s got to be some sort of trick. It’s not possible.”

“Exactly. Magic isn’t possible, yet there it is. Observe.” He waited until she returned to her seat and pulled a small yellow gemstone from the box. _“Kishpu Shiptu Baraqu._ ” A flash of lightning sprang from his fingertip, shattering the cup. She jumped, nearly rising from her chair, then sinking back down.

“H-how is this possible?” Arranging some sort of electrical discharge might be explained, but the ice was another matter. From what she knew of such things, scientifically it should have been impossible.

“What you’ve just seen is only a small demonstration of my potential. From what I’ve been able to learn, magic was once common, along with all manner of supernatural creatures. It was sealed away from this world around three thousand years ago by a sort of barrier, but that barrier has been broken and it’s slowly seeping back into our reality. What has been done cannot be undone. Right now, the effects are confined to parts of England, but it will soon be a world-wide phenomenon. In a matter of weeks, the barrier will be entirely gone, and the existence of the supernatural will be undeniable.” He settled back in his chair, rolling down his sleeve and replacing his cuff link as he watched her reaction. Fear and dismissal had begun to give way to doubt.

“This is… unbelievable. It… it can’t be true.”

“I assure you it is. I had difficulty accepting it at first, but in the last week I’ve confirmed the existence of a variety of supernatural creatures as well as becoming a sorcerer. This _is_ happening, Alicia, and if we’re not prepared to deal with it, it could bring the nation down when the public finds out.”

“Creatures? What kind of creatures?”

“Ghosts and… garden fairies are popping up on a regular basis. I’ve met with a vampire, had lab work done on a werewolf and my younger brother has interviewed the Devil. Just last night we were attacked by some sort of unknown fog creature on a busy public street. Fortunately I had the ability to deal with it, but there have been at least two deaths caused by supernatural entities. They have been dealt with, but there _will_ be others.”

“And you have proof of all of these… creatures?”

“To varying degrees, yes. Fortunately, neither the vampire or the werewolf pose any danger to the public, but even something as relatively benevolent as garden fairies can become extremely dangerous if threatened. I am in the process of… acquiring the services of those gifted enough to deal with whatever menaces we might come to face, and I very much need your support in this crisis. I can and will continue, of course, without the support of the council, but having the government support my efforts will make saving lives and suppressing public panic _much_ easier. Traditional methods aren’t going to work, and the secret service, the military and the police are about to be very much out of their depth.”

“Compelling as your demonstration was, I’m going to need to see more proof.”

“And if I provide more proof, do I have your support?”

“And these… gifted individuals whose services you’re acquiring? What’s your intention, Mycroft?”

“To form an agency capable of handling the situation. As I said, I intend to continue with my plan regardless of governmental support, but obviously, it would make things much easier for all involved if I have it.”

“Assuming everything you’ve said is true, that would put a great deal of power in your hands, Mycroft.”

“I _already_ have a great deal of power. Have you _ever_ known me to misuse it for personal gain or to go against the good of the nation?”

“No, I haven’t.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “Do you intend for this agency of yours to answer to the council?”

“I intend to be answerable for our actions and to give aid when necessary, but I won’t have those who don’t understand the situation dictate what must be done. I won’t stand for atrocities committed against British citizens in the name of scientific research or military use. Can you imagine what sort of projects someone like Jason or Edwin might propose if they got their hands on a werewolf, for example?”

“I’m afraid I do.” She sighed unhappily. “Even with my support, getting the council to back such an autonomous agency is going to be a very uphill battle. You’ll need more votes than mine.”

“I’m aware of that, but I believe your support is of the utmost importance. Do I have it?”

“If you can show me more proof, yes.”

“Would an encounter with fairies constitute proof to you?”

“Fairies? Yes, I suppose it would.”

“Then come with me into the garden. They are empathic creatures, so if you remain calm and non-threatening, they will come out.” As much as he hated to admit it, having fairies in his garden was becoming very useful. He picked up some biscuits from the tray and led her to the hawthorn tree. “Just sit very still, and as I said, remain calm…”

\---

Crime Scene: (22 April, mid-morning)

Greg had known it was going to be bad the instant he got out of his car. Two technicians were struggling to strap a screaming woman onto a gurney, and one of the newest rookies on his squad was breathing into a bag, having obviously thrown up by the stains on his jacket.

“What the hell..?” He stepped into the alley beside Sally Donovan, staring in shock. Laying in the middle of the alley in a pool of blood was a man’s body, entirely devoid of skin, face contorted into a hideous mask of pain. His blank, lidless eyes were staring into the grey, overcast sky. The stench of death was thick in the air and long strips of some thin, greyish, nearly translucent material were scattered across the scene. “Jesus”, he muttered. “There’s no remnant.”

“What was that, Boss?” Donovan looked over at him curiously, wondering what he meant.

“Nothin’. You got anything yet? Who’s the woman they’re cartin’ off?”

“A local street person. We’re running an I.D. on her right now.”

“Where’s the smell comin’ from?”

“This.” She held up a bagged sample of the material, wrinkling her nose slightly.

“Wilson, you got any idea what this stuff is?” He looked over at the forensic tech, who was kneeling by the body.

“It looks like skin, but I won’t know for sure until we get it back to the lab. If it is, it can’t be the victim’s, though. It’s way too decayed.”

“And the victim? Got anything so far?”

“Nothing that makes sense. If it wasn’t impossible, I’d say he was alive when he was dumped. There’s urine and fecal matter, but there’s no way someone could survive like that for more than a few minutes. And there’s not enough blood loss. We haven’t turned him over yet, but you can see he’s still got blood in his arteries. He’s got some leakage where the capillaries were severed, but his major arteries are intact. It looks like the subcutaneous layer is still intact…”

“Wilson, keep it simple for now.”

“Somehow, his top two layers of skin were removed without damaging the layer beneath.”

“So he was basically skinned alive?”

“From what I can tell, yes, Sir. We won’t know anything for sure until we get him back to the lab.”

“Christ. Donovan, get everybody out of here who’s not essential and keep this quiet. No press until we know what we’re dealin’ with here.”

“Are you calling _him_ in?” Donovan tried, somewhat unsuccessfully, to keep the scorn out of her voice.

“Yeah. You really need to get over your problem with my future brother-in-law, Donovan. You know how many cases he’s solved for us.”

“Brother-in-law?”

“Oh yeah, you’ve been on holiday, so I guess you’re not up to speed on the office gossip. I’m engaged to his brother, Mycroft.”

“I…” She stared at him, speechless for a moment. She’d heard rumors that Greg was bi, but she’d never had the nerve to ask him outright. The thought that he was engaged to the freak’s brother was more than a little disconcerting. “Uh… congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

\---

Crime scene: (22 April, late morning)

“I’d like to talk to you in private, if you have a moment, Inspector.” Sherlock flashed a quick, sardonic smile at Donovan. “Family business.”

“Yeah. Donovan, I’ll meet you at the office.”

“Sure thing, Boss.” She walked away, glancing at the pair suspiciously. Sherlock had been oddly silent when he surveyed the scene, keeping any deductions to himself. She’d heard him quietly ask the Inspector a single question, the same word she’d thought she heard Lestrade mutter earlier: remnant. He’d shook his head, then watched as Sherlock stepped away to make a call. Now the two of them were huddled together, quietly discussing something. As the car drove away, she looked out the window at the Inspector’s face. He looked upset. It occurred to her that there was a mystery other than murder going on; one she decided needed solving. She’d watched Anderson’s obsession with Sherlock destroy his career. She genuinely liked Greg, and she wasn’t about to let some obsession with the freak’s brother destroy him. She’d heard enough about the mysterious elder Holmes brother to know that whatever his position with the government was, he was a very dangerous man.

“A bloody what?” Greg looked at Sherlock in dismay.

“A skin-walker. It’s a type of demon. Lucifer says the signs are unmistakable. It was likely summoned by someone who lost control of it, and it took their skin. They can only go about a week before the new skin begins to rapidly decay, so it’s my guess there’s at least one more body out there.”

“Christ. How do we catch this thing?”

“It will look exactly like the victim, so if we can identify him, we will at least now what he looks like. It also takes on some of the victim’s memories and personality, so that would give us some parameters on potential activities. But in all practicality, it’s going to take Mycroft’s abilities to track the creature and send it back to Hell before it kills again. Once it knows we’re onto it, all it has to do to elude us is change skins again, so we won’t want to give it any chance to escape. Bullets won’t do much good against it, though Lucifer says decapitation will do the trick. They’re highly dangerous in combat, however, and as none of us are skilled in swordsmanship, magic is our best bet.”

“Shit. How’s he supposed to track it?”

“He’ll need to summon and control a hell-hound. Apparently they were originally created to track down rogue demons, so as long as Mycroft can control it, it should be able to find our demon.”

“A hell-hound.” He frowned, remembering Baskerville. “Mycroft’s not gonna like this.”

“Probably not, but if he’s going to be our resident sorcerer, he’s going to have to resign himself to doing field work.” Sherlock couldn’t help the small smirk of satisfaction that flashed across his face. Mycroft detested field work.

“How do we know it was summoned? Could it have gotten out of hell through a Way?”

“Highly unlikely. Hell doesn’t have open Ways, as Faerie does. It has Portals, which are Ways that have to be opened through magic. A skin-walker doesn’t have the ability to wield that kind of magic. It would take a Demon Lord to force one open from Hell, and they’re unlikely to have released a relatively minor creature like a skin-walker. As far as demons go, they’re relatively weak and difficult to control because of the nature of their abilities. It’s far more likely that some would-be magician accidently summoned it. Hell Portals are much easier to open from this side. This won’t be the last demon we’ll have to deal with.”

“Easier? That’s just great”, he grumbled. “So that’s a thing, now? We gotta worry about some idiot accidently unleashing God knows what kinda demon on the world.”

“Unfortunately, yes. It’s a question of power and motive. In this case, we can assume it was someone with just enough ability to open the portal, but not strong enough to contain or control it. A better magician could contain it or send it back, but there’s always those who would seek to release one for revenge or gain.”

“I gotta get back to the office. I’ll get Molly on it, and let you know if we find out anything about the victim. You talk to Mycroft, and tell him what we gotta do. And don’t let him summon the damn thing until I’m there, just in case. Do bullets work on hell-hounds?”

“No. There are a few types of demon susceptible to silver or iron, but most aren’t. Automatic weapons or explosives might cause enough damage to incapacitate one temporarily, but they heal at an incredibly rapid rate. A particularly well-placed shot from an explosive round might destroy one if it decapitates them, but I suggest we all schedule time to learn the art of swordsmanship.”

“Where’s John, by the way? I’m surprised he’s not with you.”

“They’re beginning the work on the downstairs this morning, and he needed to consult with the foreman. We’re hiring Mrs. Hudson’s niece as a live-in nanny, by the way.”

“Yeah? That’s good, keepin’ it in the family. Does she know about Mary?”

“She can see her. Mrs. Hudson doesn’t know yet, though, so don’t mention it if you see her.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t.” He snorted softly. “It’s not exactly the sort of thing I bring up in casual conversation.”

\---

Mycroft’s office: (22 April, noon)

“And you’re quite certain that all of the CCTV footage has been destroyed? No one else saw it?”

“Yes, Sir. It was just me and Blake, and I’ve taken measures to see he’s unavailable for the next week. He was due some vacation, so he’s on his way to Tahiti, and I’ve ensured his communications will be monitored.” Anthea looked curiously at her boss, wondering if he was going to explain the strange incident she’d witnessed on the footage.

“Anthea…” Mycroft sighed. He trusted her more than any other assistant he’d had, but that wasn’t really saying much. “I will explain all of this soon. It’s quite complicated, however, and for now I have more pressing matters to attend to.”

“As you wish, Sir. Your brother is here. Should I show him in?”

“Yes. And Anthea… Well done. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Sir.” Other than a slight smile, she kept her surprise to herself. It wasn’t like him to offer praise, but she appreciated it. She’d lasted years as his assistant while her predecessor had only held the position for six months. It had been considered a record at the time. Mycroft was a difficult man to work for, precise and demanding, but as she’d come to know him, she’d come to admire him. Few people were aware of just how hard he worked to keep the nation safe and of the sacrifices he’d made, but he’d ensured her loyalty, even if he’d probably never acknowledge it.

\---


	14. Think of England...

Mycroft’s Office: (22 April, noon)

“A hell-hound?” Mycroft scowled unhappily. “Is there no other way to track this thing?”

“If we’re able to identify the victim, it’s possible, but do you really want to take the chance of it killing again? We have, at most, a week before it must take another victim, and it’s not impossible that it might decide to upgrade to a more advantageous identity before it’s forced to. It’s probably already killed whoever summoned it.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “We both know that this murder is going to have to be unsolved, officially. Think of poor Greg, having yet another unsolved pair of grisly murders on his record. Do you _really_ want to take the chance of compounding that with a third?”

“That is a low blow, little brother”, he snarled, entirely irritated at the smug look on Sherlock’s face.

“Perhaps, but it’s true and you know it.” Sherlock smirked. “You’re the resident sorcerer in this little group, brother dear. You’re going to have to resign yourself to doing _fieldwork_.”

“There is a spell for summoning one in the book”, he admitted reluctantly. “I’ll need to gather some things to prepare for it.” He pulled the book out of his pocket, turning to the spell and reading through it. “It’s most effective at midnight. I’ll expect you to be there, little brother. I’m not summoning this thing alone.”

“Yes, and Greg intends to be there as well.”

“Yes, I suppose he would.” He sighed. He’d much rather have Greg safely elsewhere, but he knew his lover would never stand for it. “I think Thomas should be there tonight. If for any reason I can’t control the beast, he’d have the best chance at combating it. I’ll contact him, but you’ll need to gather the ingredients for me. My presence is needed here for the day.” He wrote out a quick list and handed it to his brother. “We’ll meet at our headquarters. It will take some time to inscribe the circle, so meet me by seven.”

“Fine, but you’ll need to call Mother and decline her dinner invitation. How _did_ things go with them last night?”

“Better than I expected. She actually apologized to both Greg and me for her behavior earlier.”

“A real one?” Sherlock looked up from the list in surprise. His mother’s apologies to Mycroft usually went along the lines of things like: _I’m sorry I spilled tea on you, but you shouldn’t have been in the way._

“Yes. Shocking, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps she’s mellowing with age, though I suspect Father may have had something to do with her change in attitude.”

“I believe you’re correct. I get the impression he quite likes Greg.”

“Yes, well… not that surprising, really”, Sherlock murmured quietly. “I expected he might. Greg does look a bit like _someone_ …”

 _“Don’t._ ” Mycroft glared sharply at his brother, his eyes narrowing in warning. Years ago, not long after Eurus had been committed, their parent’s marriage had gone through a rough patch and their father had cheated on her, just once, with another man. She’d forgiven him, but she’d never quite forgiven Mycroft for deducing it at the dinner table.

“As you wish.” He smiled indulgently. “I was a bit surprised he wasn’t upset about John and me.”

“As was I. Perhaps it’s the child. He’s always wanted a grandchild.”

“Probably. Well, I’ll get on this list of yours. We’ll see you this evening.”

\---

Scotland Yard, Sally Donovan’s office: (22 April, early afternoon)

After a little casual chat with the office gossips, Sally had charmed the file clerk into giving her copies of the strange case files her boss had requested while she’d been gone. She’d been told he’d said that they were research for some higher learning classes in psychology, but she didn’t believe that for a minute. She’d also asked Wilson to lunch, where he’d been all too willing to regale her with tales of Greg’s odd behavior in the morgue last week.

“What are you up to, boss?”, she muttered quietly. The files were among some of the weirdest cases she’d seen. Fairies, werewolf sightings, ghosts; it just didn’t make sense. The Greg Lestrade she’d come to know over the years was a sensible man with his feet firmly on the ground. Why was he suddenly so interested in such bizarre case reports?

Her attempts to research Mycroft Holmes had been frustrating and she suspected his position with the government was far beyond minor. She’d even resorted to calling Anderson to ask about him, only to be warned off and hung up on. She had to admit he wasn’t the most reliable source given his history of mental problems, but he’d sounded genuinely frightened.

She looked up to see the Inspector heading her way and she hastily stuffed the files in her desk. She grabbed the file on their latest case, trying to look busy.

“Donovan, I wanna see you in my office.”

“Sure, Boss. I’ll be right there.” She followed behind him, trying not to look nervous as he shut the door behind him.

“Sally, we need to have a little talk.”

“About the case?”, she asked warily. He rarely called her by her first name and she didn’t think it was a good sign.

“About what you’ve been up to. Why are you investigating me instead of doing your job?”

“Sir? I’m not…”

“Don’t even try to deny it. I just got a call from Anderson. Why are you askin’ him about Mycroft?” His irritation was very evident in his tone. “You’ve got no business prying into my personal life.”

“I… I’m concerned about you. This morning, at the scene… you seemed different, somehow.”

“Look, I know you don’t like Sherlock. Everybody in the department, _and_ the press, knows that. That’s your opinion, and wrong as it is, you’re entitled to it but what you’re _not_ entitled to is pokin’ your nose into my personal affairs. Me and Mycroft are strictly off-limits. Did I stick my nose in things when you were seein’ a married co-worker on the side?”

“No, but…”

“But what? Is it because I’m with a man, or is it because that man happens to be Sherlock’s brother?”

“He’s a bit… mysterious, isn’t he?”

“I know what I need to know about him; that he’s a good man, and that he loves me and I love him. You don’t need to know a damn thing about him. It’s none of your business, Donovan, and for your own good, I suggest you keep it that way.”

“Yes, Sir.” She sat quietly for a moment, letting his warning sink in. She was positive now that Mycroft Holmes was MI6, and probably a good deal higher in the agency than anyone knew. She decided she’d better change the subject.

“What about all the weird cases you’ve been asking about?”

“I’m taking some higher learning courses in psychology.” He gave her a stern look that told her the subject wasn’t up for further discussion. “Just do your job, Donovan. I appreciate your concern, but I’m not gonna put up with you meddling in my private life. You’re a good detective, and you’re goin’ places in the department. Let’s just keep it at that, shall we?”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you.”

Greg sighed as she left the office. She’d have to know about magic eventually, but it wasn’t a conversation he was eager to have.

\---

221B Baker street: (22 April, late afternoon)

“You’ve been gone a while. What’s all this?” John met him at the door with a kiss, taking some of the packages from him and setting them down on the couch.

“Supplies for this evening’s hell-hound summoning.” He grinned, noting the butterfly sleeping on John’s head. “I see you and Steven are getting along well.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot he was up there.” John chuckled. “I’ve been watching the girls while Kat and Mrs. Hudson are out shopping, and you’re right; he really is good with children. They’ve been playing with him since lunch. I think they tired each other out. They’re asleep now too, so keep it down, by the way.”

“I was rather more hoping to get it _up_.” He grinned wolfishly. “We’ll probably be very late tonight, and I imagine chasing across London after a rogue demon is going to leave us a bit too tired.”

“Well, I suppose I could leave Steven to watch over them, and Bill can probably be trusted to let us know if either of them starts crying. How long is he going to be here?”

“I’m moving him into the new headquarters as soon as it’s ready.”

“Good. I’ll just pop up and check on the girls, and then I’ll join you in the bedroom.

\---

Sherlock and John’s Bedroom: (22 April, late afternoon)

“The girls are all settled and… _What_ is that?” John threw his jumper on the chair, staring dubiously at the long slender device that lay on the bed beside his naked lover. It was about seven inches long, with a slight bend leading to a bulbous end and a tapered tip.

“It’s a prostate massager.” He grinned slyly. “And it _vibrates_.”

“Sherlock… I’m… I’ve never been very interested in toys in the bedroom. I like to do things the old-fashioned way…” He unbuttoned his shirt and set it beside the jumper.

“Oh, come on, John. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I’d think chasing a skin-stealing demon behind a hell-hound would be adventure enough for one day.” Kicking off his shoes, he pulled off his trousers and pants and laid down beside Sherlock.

“Skin- _walker_. We don’t _have_ to use it, if you don’t _want_ to, but…”

“But what?”

“But think of how it’d feel, having your prostate massaged _while_ you top me. Or we could do it the other way ‘round, if you’d rather.” He twisted the end, and the device started buzzing. “Besides, you think _this_ is hot, don’t you?” He reached behind him, pulling out the butt plug.

“Well, _yes_ , but that’s for before, not during, and…”

“And?”

“And alright, yes, it is very hot, thinking about you wearing it under your clothes, stretching yourself for my cock. Isn’t it… uncomfortable, though?”

“Not once you get used to it.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Yes, well, I just don’t know about… Gah! Oh my God, that tickles!” John laughed and jerked back as Sherlock ran the tip of the massager across his balls.

“And just imagine how it’d feel, tickling you inside while you fuck me…”

“Christ. I…” John’s face flushed a bit at the thought, but his mind supplied an unsolicited mental image that made his cock twitch with interest. “I wonder how it’d work with a blowjob?”

“There’s only one way to find out, John.”

“You’d use your fingers first, right? I mean, it’s not nearly as big as the head of your cock, but…”

“Of course. And it’s a beginner model, so the vibration’s not too strong. The salesman said it might be a bit much otherwise.”

“Oh…kay.” Sex toys had always seemed a bit silly to John, but for some reason he found the idea of Sherlock out shopping for them strangely arousing. “We’ll try it, but you’ll have to promise me you’ll stop the instant I say.”

“Of course. Oh, and I bought more lube. Did you know it comes in _flavors?”_

“Well, yes…” He leaned over and kissed Sherlock, slightly amused that he tasted of strawberries. “I see you’ve been testing it.”

“I can think of a _better_ test.” He grabbed the tube off the nightstand. “Is a blowjob better with lube?” He kissed John and pushed him back on the bed, kissing his way down his body.

“I can’t imagine it being any better, with what you can do. It might be better for _you_ , if you like the taste…” He gasped as Sherlock tongued his nipple, lightly nibbling on it with his teeth. “Oh god, I love it when you do that.”

“I prefer the taste of your skin”, Sherlock murmured. He poured some oil into his palm, glancing up at John. “Slip a pillow behind you so I can reach you better.” John complied, somewhat awkwardly as Sherlock had suddenly engulfed his cock in his mouth. He grew to full hardness as his lover’s lips locked around the base, his talented throat muscles constricting around the head.

“ _Ohhh_ … _Sherlock_ …”, he moaned, parting his legs wider as his lover’s slick fingers caressed his balls and then slid across the smooth skin behind them, teasing at his opening before slipping inside him. Sherlock’s tongue laved across the underside of his cock as he slid back up, taking a deep breath before he slowly swallowed him again with delightfully agonizing slowness.

“Oh… fuck… my love… _yesss_ …” Sherlock caressed John’s prostate as he massaged his cock with his throat. John’s fingers tangled in his curls as his lover sucked him. He moaned softly as a second finger slipped in. The brief instant of pain which he had once feared was now almost enjoyable; like a promise of greater pleasure to come. After long moments of bliss, he felt his lover sliding back up for another breath.

As he went back down, once again engulfing John’s cock, he slipped his fingers out and quickly lubed up the massager. John made a strange little sputtering sound, trying to moan and giggle at the same time. For an instant, he thought how silly it seemed to use a toy when Sherlock’s fingers were so very talented. Then it slipped inside him, the vibrating head pressing against his gland at just the precisely perfect spot.

 “Ahh… _Goddd!”_ The world went white and all thought left his mind. John writhed on the bed, lost in a world of ecstasy, babbling more than a little incoherently. The combined vibration of the massager along with the low humming sound Sherlock made as he sucked him was almost too intense. His body began to tremble and his fingers clutched tightly at his lover’s hair as he wavered on the edge of powerful double orgasm. One more flex of Sherlock’s throat was all it took, and he came, erupting in his lover’s mouth with a loud inarticulate cry.

“John?” The next thing he knew, Sherlock was on top of him, looking into his eyes with mild concern. “Are you alright?”

“God… yes…”, he gasped. “That was… that was… Oh my God… _Sherlock_.” He managed, just barely, to lift his head, tasting himself on his lover’s lips.

“So, I take it you liked it?” Sherlock grinned down at him, obviously more than a little pleased with himself. “I thought I’d broken you there, for a moment.”

“Fuck me, _yes_ … I was _wrong_ , it was… good, toys… can be very… Oh, dear Lord!”

“Fuck you? Do you want me to?”

“If you want to… get off, you’re going to… have to. I… can’t even feel… my legs.”

“Well then, since I have you at my mercy…” John giggled as Sherlock bent his head to kiss him. He reached down, lining up his cock with John’s entrance. He could feel the muscles spasming around his cock he pressed himself inside. John was still babbling semi-coherently and occasionally giggling, and Sherlock found it so arousing he could have almost came just from watching him. He pumped himself into his lover’s body, cumming fast and hard.

“God, John, you’re beautiful like that.”

“I never… that was… You are incredible. That was incredible. My God, I love you so much. Can we nap? Do we have time to nap?”

“Yes John, you can nap.” He snuggled into John’s arms, listening to his heartbeat and luxuriating in the feel of his sweat-dampened skin against his own. “I love you too.”

\---

Liam’s Flat: (22 April, early evening)

“Thanks for coming by Tom. I know you’re probably busy…”

“I’m due somewhere much later tonight, but I make time for my friends, Liam. I’ve been meaning to speak with you anyway. Has Mr. Holmes contacted you yet?”

“About the job? Yeah. He said his name was _Mycroft_ Holmes… I’m assuming he’s the other one’s brother?”

“Yes, his elder brother. Did you accept the position?”

“I don’t think I had much choice.” He shrugged. “Not that I can afford to turn that kind of money down anyway. Besides, I get the impression that I’d practically be a traitor if I _didn’t_ take it. And he said I’d be working with you as well, so there’s that.”

“Liam, it’s a very legitimate offer, but I don’t want you feel like you must accept it. Mycroft is a skilled negotiator and he can be quite intimidating, but you have my personal guarantee that you won’t be in any danger if you decline.”

“Well, like I said, I do need the money. I’m on thin ice with my job as it is. Fucking Larry’s just dying for a chance to fire me. Besides, it’d be nice not having to hide what I am from my co-workers… That’s kinda why I called you; about one of my co-workers. At least, I _think_ she’s a co-worker. I didn’t really have the nerve to ask him.”

“Miss Hooper, I presume?”

“Yeah. I kinda ran into her at the market, and we went to the pub together… Is there any rule about, you know, dating co-workers?”

“Not that I know of. As both Holmes brothers are dating fellow employees, I should think you’re on safe ground there. I take it you’re interested in her, romantically?”

“Yeah. She’s great. She’s really sweet and very pretty, and I think she likes me even though she knows what I am. I asked her if she’d like to go out, and she said yes, but… uh… I’m not sure if anything’ll come of it. It might be best if I didn’t.”

“Why not?

“It might not be fair to her. There’s… the thing is I… well, I don’t know if I can… be normal anymore.” He ran his hand through his russet hair, frowning and obviously very embarrassed. “With a woman, I mean.”

“Are you talking about sex?” He smiled softly, careful not to show any fang.

“Yeah.” Unable to meet Tom’s gaze, his bright yellow eyes were focused on the floor. “It’s not as big of a deal in the day, but I can’t… It’s really hard to keep from changing when I’m… you know.”

“I’m not quite sure I do. Have you tried having sex since you became a werewolf?”

“Not with another person, but when I try to… to have a wank, I sorta… I change.”

“To wolf or were-form?”

“To were-form. I have to really concentrate to keep the change from happening, and I… well, I’m not very good at concentrating on more than one thing at a time. And I’m… I can almost change during the day as well, which I _thought_ was a good thing, except… well, this.”

“I was wondering if you’d be able to change in daylight as you got more control. Possibly this is a similar situation of just gaining better control over the change.” He smiled sympathetically. “Maybe you just need more practice.”

“Maybe, but how can I take that chance? I mean, I can practice not changing when I wank, but that’s not the same thing as being with someone. There’s a lot more going on than when I’m just watching a porno or something. And no girl’s gonna want to take the chance of getting with me if I might turn into a werewolf during the middle of things.”

“Well, I can’t speak to Miss Hooper’s feeling on the matter, but I wouldn’t say that no girl would take that chance. I’ve know some very… open-minded ladies.”

“It’s not just… I mean, there’s a lot to worry about. I don’t _think_ I’d lose control and hurt somebody; not on purpose, anyway, but even if I was with a girl who wouldn’t just run off screaming, my claws are kinda long and sharp… It’s hard not to hurt _myself_ wacking it, let alone a partner. And we don’t know if or how it’s passed on. If it’s like the movies, it’s fine if I don’t bite anyone, and I don’t _think_ I would, but what if some kinda wolf instinct took over? And what if it’s like some kind of STD? And then there’s… I don’t know how well a rubber would work on me, with the… uh… shape of the thing. What if we got… I dunno, stuck or something? Plus, when I change, it kinda gets… big. Like, _really_ big.”

“I’m not sure what to tell you. When the labs are completed, you can bring in a semen sample to test against your saliva. That might be helpful as well in determining if your condition is communicable. As for your other worries… Liam, have you ever been with a man?”

“No. I’m not gay. I mean, there was this one time… but we were just kids; we just sorta, you know, rolled around a bit and wanked each other. Why?”

“Well, I do know one man who you wouldn’t have to worry about hurting if you were to transform.”

“Who? Oh. Oh my God! I, uh… you mean you, don’t you? Do you… _like_ me like that?”

“As in romantically, no, but I do consider you a friend, and as men go, you’re rather handsome. I’m certainly not adverse to the idea of helping you through this, if you’d like. There’s no pressure, however. It’s merely an offer. It won’t trouble me if you say no.”

“I… _Jesus_ , Tom. That’s… that’s good of you, but I don’t think… I couldn’t do much to, you know, reciprocate…”

“Nor would I expect you to.”

“I’m not sure I can get, um… hard, with a man.”

“If I bite you, you most certainly will, though you might like to play something… inspiring on your computer as well.”

“Why? I mean, not why _that_ … Why are you offering?”

“I genuinely want to help you, and I must admit to being curious. I consider myself pansexual, and the idea strikes my sense of adventure.”

“It doesn’t put you off; the thought that I might change, during?”

“Not at all. Don’t misunderstand me, I know the goal is for you _not_ to change, but if you do, you needn’t stop until you climax.”

“You don’t think that’d be like… bestiality or something?”

“No, I don’t. I’m not into that, if that’s what you’re concerned about, but _neither_ of us is human. No matter what form you’re in, your mind is still your own. It may be a fine point to some, but it’s a _very_ definite distinction in my book. Do you need some time to think on it? Perhaps a run first would do us both a bit of good.”

“Yeah, I think… if you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t.” He gave Liam a toothy grin. “We creatures of the night have to stick together, after all.”

\---

Undisclosed location, Secret Base: (22 April, mid-evening)

“You think we should go help them?” Greg sat on the desk next to John, handing him a beer.

“We’d probably just get in the way.” John grinned, still feeling a bit lazy from that afternoon’s mind-shattering orgasm.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Greg took a long sip off his beer. “You look pretty happy for a guy about to go demon hunting with a hell-hound. Things must be goin’ pretty good with you two.”

“Better than I could have ever imagined. He’s amazing.” He gestured vaguely with his beer, watching his lover and Mycroft lay out a large elaborate design on the floor in the center of the room with a paste made of water and flour.

“I guess they got that in common.” Greg smiled, admiring Mycroft’s arse as he knelt on the floor. “ _Definitely_ amazing.”

“You were right, you know.”

“Yeah? About what?”

“Me being a little homophobic, for one thing. I was, and I just couldn’t see it. I’ve done a lot of soul-searching, and I’ve come to realize that I’m bi.” He shrugged. “I’d just walled all those desires off from myself, and I think it’s why I got so worked-up about things.”

“Yeah, I’m probably more gay than I thought I was. I mean, it’s still his mind that I love most, but after bein’ with him, I’ve realized how much I missed it. Being versatile, I mean.”

“I… you’re not the only one that’s versatile.”

“Oh? You let him top you, huh?” Greg looked at him curiously, amusement twinkling in his dark brown eyes.

“Yes, and you know what? I’m not even sure which I like better now. It’s _all_ fantastic.”

“Look at _you_. You’re not even blushing. I’m proud of you, John. You’ve come a long way from the guy who was freaking out about enjoying givin’ a blow job.”

“I’m a bit proud of myself, really. It feels good, you know; being so comfortable with who I am. It all seems silly now. I guess you thought I was a real idiot.”

“Nah. I know it’s not easy, comin’ to terms with who you are. I just did it a lot earlier in life is all.”

“I’m glad I didn’t. I’m glad it was _him_. He’s not always a giant smart-arse.” John laughed softly. “He’s got a whole other side to him, when we’re alone together. I imagine Mycroft does too, huh?”

“Yeah. Neither one of them is as invulnerable as they pretend to be.” He smiled softly. “We’re privileged, you and me. We get to see the things they hide from the rest of the world.”

“It’s a bit humbling to think how brave they are, to let us in like that.”

“I know. I feel the same way. The stuff he wears, the way he is with people; it’s like his armor, and I’m the one person he feels safe takin’ if off for.”

“That makes a lot of sense, you know. About Mycroft and the armor… I guess that’s why he collects it.”

“Yeah, that’s occurred to me too. Oh, I saw your announcement on the blog. Good job, that.”

“Thanks. Have you and Mycroft set a date yet?”

“No. I don’t even know if he wants a big deal or just something quiet. I’m expecting he’ll want something quiet, but I’m gonna leave that to him. You guys decided on the name thing yet?”

“The name thing? God, I never even thought about it. What are you two gonna do?”

“I dunno. I kinda favor hyphenating, but I’ll be happy to go along with whatever Mycroft wants.”

“Greg Lestrade-Holmes. It has a nice ring to it.”

“Yeah, that it does. John Watson-Holmes? That don’t sound bad either.”

“It _does_ sound good. I wonder if he’d go for it, or just want me to take his name?”

“Yeah, you might not wanna go _that_ way.”

“Why not?”

“John Holmes.” Greg snorted, chortling as he took another swallow of his beer. John looked at him blankly. “He was a famous porn star from America.”

“Yeah, I think not, then.”

“You don’t have to change it at all. A lotta gay couples don’t, but I’m really hopin’ Mycroft does go with hyphenating. I like the idea of puttin’ my name on him.” Greg grinned.

“I feel the same way. Hey, how’d things go with their parents? Did they take the whole magic thing okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. And I think his mother’s decided to be okay with us after all.”

“That’s good. I did think she was little hard on you two. I wonder why? She seemed fine with me and Sherlock.”

“Some messed-up relationship from when he was real young, I think.” Greg shrugged. “I don’t think he wants to talk about it, so I haven’t pressed him about it.”

“So you weren’t the first? I always thought he was like Sherlock; just… I don’t know, above all that sort of thing.”

“I’m the first _man_ he’s been with.”

“Huh. It’s funny, but as far as men go, we were all virgins… except for you, of course.”

“Yeah, I guess I’m the wild one, then”, he chuckled.

“I don’t know about _that_. For a guy who was a virgin a week ago, Sherlock gets pretty wild at times.” John laughed ruefully. “He’s insatiable. Sometimes I think he’s trying to kill me.”

“Well, he is the youngest of us, and he’s always had a lotta energy. I can see where he’d be a handful.”

“I imagine Mycroft’s a lot… calmer.”

“Yeah. I mean, I can’t complain… we _do_ have a lot of sex.” Greg grinned. “And he’s hung like a horse.” He laughed, watching John almost choke on his beer.

“Jesus, Greg!”, he snickered. “I did not expect that.”

“Me neither, but it was definitely a pleasant surprise.”

“So… you like big ones, then?”

“Yeah.” He looked at John curiously, but didn’t ask.

“Sherlock’s bigger than me, and I’m… average, I guess. A bit thicker than most, maybe, but…”

“Mycroft’s…” Greg gestured with his hands. “Big.”

“Christ, doesn’t that… hurt?” John winced at the idea, glad that Sherlock’s wasn’t as thick.

“Oh _yeah_.” He glanced over at John, grinning happily. “I _like_ it a bit on the rough side when I’m bottoming.”

“Not me. God, the first time… I was afraid I’d freak out. But he’s… he picks up skills really fast, you know. I guess I set a good example though, because even the first time was great.”

“Yeah, so does Mycroft… pick up skills quick, I mean. Just look at how quick he’s learned magic. He just got the book yesterday, and he’s already saved us once with it. We’re lucky guys, you and me.”

“Yeah, we really are.”

\---

Liam’s bedroom: (22 April, mid-evening)

“Are you sure you wanna go through with this, Tom? I mean, you don’t have to, if you don’t want.” The run had relaxed him, but now that they were in the bedroom, his nervousness had returned.

“I’m well aware of that, Liam, but I haven’t changed my mind. I don’t want you to feel pressured, however. You can still change your mind. I can tell you’re very nervous. I know you’re straight. I won’t be upset if you feel it’s something you can’t do.”

“I… that’s not it. I mean, yeah, I’m not gay or anything, but… are you sure you won’t be… I mean, if I change, I… that really won’t bother you?”

“No, it won’t. If you were bi, I imagine I’d have already propositioned you. I am, as I’ve said, very adventurous when it comes to sex. I’m not repulsed by your were-form, if that’s what concerns you.”

“That’s part of it. But… I might hurt you. Not on purpose, but you know, the claws, and it… if I change, my um… it’s _big_ , and it’s gonna hurt you. And even if I _don’t_ change, I… I don’t think I could do anything to get you off too… it doesn’t seem fair.”

“Liam, you don’t have to. I’m perfectly capable of handling that part myself, although it might not be necessary. I enjoy being penetrated, quite a bit. As far as pain goes, one of my female companions is… very creatively sadistic. I enjoy pain and pleasure almost equally, and since my transformation, size isn’t a problem either. If you do any damage, it will heal very rapidly. In a few minutes, I’ll be back to my original condition.”

“Oh. You really _like_ that stuff? Not that I’m judging, mind you, I just can’t imagine actually enjoying pain.”

“Yes. I like sex in all its varied forms, as long as all parties involved are consenting adults and no permanent damage is done. I’m sure I’ve done a lot of things you’d consider unimaginable. This really isn’t that extreme, compared to some of the things I’ve gotten up to.”

“Oh. I guess… okay then? What should I do? I mean, I know I’m supposed to fuck you, but I don’t know if I could bring myself to kiss you, or what to do, really… Shit. I bet I sound like a complete prat, huh?”

“No, you don’t. And kissing isn’t required. I suggest we remove our clothing and get in bed. Then I’ll bite you. If the neck seems too intimate, I can bite your wrist. You will, I assure you, become aroused. It’s one of the side effects of vampirism. I imagine you probably know what to do from there.”

“Kinda. I’ve only dated one girl who even let me do arse stuff, and it was this whole big deal with some kinda secret washroom prep, and then there was, uh… licking and fingers and a lot of lube…”

“Yes. Well, I don’t require anything other than lube, although working things open with your fingers would be… preferable. We might want to put a towel under me for the sake of your bedding, however. If I ejaculate, I don’t want to get blood on it.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot you shoot blood. Well then… I guess, let’s do it?”

“Let’s.” Thomas stripped off his clothing, watching Liam undress but careful to avoid eye contact or showing his fangs. On a subconscious level, Liam’s instincts had become more wolf than man, and he didn’t want to do anything to challenge him. As fascinating as the idea of sex with a fully transformed werewolf was, he was hoping his friend could manage it without changing, for Liam’s sake. He laid on the bed, rolling over on his belly and carefully placing the towel underneath him.

“You’ve got a nice arse for a guy, really.” It was a bit more muscular than he was used to, but very firm, and nicely rounded. Liam fumbled around in the nightstand drawer for the lube, then straddled Tom on the bed. He looked down at himself, a little surprised. “I guess my prick doesn’t know the difference. I’m kinda hard-ish already. I guess I should do the prep thing first, before you bite me, just in case…” He fumbled around a bit, getting the bottle of lube open, then parted Thomas’s cheeks, pouring a good bit more than was necessary directly onto his hole before sticking a finger in. Thomas grinned, making a mental note to give his woefully inexperienced friend some pointers about how to do it properly later. A second finger soon joined the first, scissoring him open.

“Uh… it that good enough?”

“For me, yes.” It was a struggle to keep the amusement out of his tone.

“Okay, then…” Liam poured more oil onto his cock, making a small hissing noise as the cold liquid touched his hot flesh. “I guess I should have warmed it up first.” He leaned across his friend’s body, lining himself up and presenting his wrist. “It’s not all the way hard yet…”

“It will be.” Thomas grasped his wrist and pulled it to his mouth. Teeth lengthening in anticipation, he sunk his canines into the vein, moaning softly as the heat of Liam’s blood spread through his body.

“Oh wow, that really feels…  very good.” Liam’s cock suddenly sprang to full hardness, and he pressed himself against the tight ring of muscle until he was sheathed inside him. Despite the coolness of Thomas’s flesh, he was wonderfully tight, and Liam began to fuck him enthusiastically. Thomas reluctantly withdrew his fangs. He could drink a good deal more without harming Liam, and drinking directly from someone was much more pleasant than his usual method, but it could make his friend come too quickly for their little experiment to be of real use.

“Oh shit, I…” Liam gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, trying to keep the change at bay. Each stroke drew it nearer, and part of him wanted to stop, not wanting to subject his friend to what was about to happen, but the need to keep going was too strong to resist. It had been months since he’d had sex, and the vampire’s bite had his cock aching for more. “I’m sorry… can’t stop… gonna change…”

“It’s alright. You can’t really hurt me.” Thomas licked at the blood oozing from Liam’s wrist, relishing the warmth and the taste on his tongue. He was intrigued by the exotic flavor; much less salty than human blood, and gamier, but delicious nonetheless.

Liam’s response was a soft growl that trailed off into silence as the change overtook him. For an instant, his vision and hearing faded away, and all he knew was the fevered need to fuck, to possess the body writhing beneath him. His senses returned with his transformation, keener and sharper than before. The smell of his own blood filled his nostrils as he bent low, growling into Thomas’s ear as he nuzzled his neck.

Thomas groaned as pleasure mixed with pain, nearly driven to orgasm by the sensation of Liam’s cock almost doubling in size inside him. He felt himself tearing from the size and the power of Lian’s thrusts, and he sank his fangs deep into the russet-furred wrist of his friend, seeking out the hot, healing blood.

Liam’s muzzle curled into a snarl, and he instinctively sank his long teeth into Thomas’s shoulder, seeking to pin him into place. Some part of him was horrified, but the frenzied need to bury himself deeper into to him was too strong to fight. He thrust the knot at the base of his penis deep inside his arse, locking himself into place.

Thomas released his wrist as Liam began to cum, filling his body with heat and driving him into orgasm. He moaned as sharp claws raked across his cheek, intensifying the power of his climax.

When the last of his seed had filled Thomas’s body, Liam suddenly released his grip on his shoulder. Licking the nearly bloodless wound, he nuzzled his friend’s face, whining softly, unable to pull out and filled with guilt and horror at losing control.

“It’s okay, Liam.” Thomas reached up, gently rubbing Liam’s muzzle. “I’m fine. I know you can’t pull out yet. Do you want to me to disentangle us? We can stay like this if you need to, but I think I can do it without hurting you.”

Unable to speak in were-form, Liam nodded. Thomas dissolved into mist, reforming on the bed beside Liam. The werewolf whined again, looking miserably at Thomas with his expressive golden eyes. He flinched as Thomas reached out and wrapped his arms around him. Control regained, he changed back to human form, weeping on Thomas’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry. Oh God, Tom, I’m so _sorry_. I didn’t _want_ to hurt you, but I couldn’t stop myself…” He thrust Thomas away from him, burying his face in his hands in shame and sobbing.

“Liam. Look at me.” He reached out, placing his hand on Liam’s shoulder. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t… hate me, now?” He glanced up fearfully, afraid he’d lost the only person he could truly call his friend.

“Of course not. Why would I? I lost control a bit myself, when I bit you the second time. Besides, except for your regret, I enjoyed it immensely.”

“You… you did? But I… _hurt_ you.”

“Liam, I could have stopped you if I wanted to.” He smiled reassuringly. “I could have drifted away into mist at any time, like I did when I separated us.”

“Why… why didn’t you?”

“Because I didn’t want to. I’ve always liked a little pain from time to time, and since I changed, I don’t process it in the same way I used to. It’s… very erotic to me during sex. The only thing I’m sorry about is your regret.”

“You’re not just saying that to spare my feeling, are you?” He looked over hopefully, sniffling and wiping his eyes.

“No. I orgasmed as well, and quite strongly, by the evidence left on the towel.” He reached over, gathering it up before the blood could seep through onto the sheets. “Liam, I think it’s a _good_ thing we did this. You needed to know how much control you have during sex. Personally, I think we should do it again sometime soon. Perhaps, with practice, you may be able to maintain control over the change.”

“You’d really… want to do that again?”

“Of course. How can you learn control without practice? It seems the logical course of action to me. I understand that it’s not ideal since I’m male, but I’m certainly willing if you are.”

“God, Tom… I don’t know. It’s not the gay thing, it’s just.. I’m ashamed of losing control like that.”

“That may also be partly my fault. Perhaps if we tried it without my drinking from you, it might go better. It does tend to have a rather powerful effect, and I may have underestimated it. Also, it has been a while for you, since you last had sex, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah. Me and Nat… we weren’t doing it much in the end and it’s been… three or four months, maybe? That’s kinda a… long time for me.”

“Well, then. Why don’t we try it again in a few days and see what happens?”

“Yeah, I mean… You _really_ want to? You’re not just feeling sorry for me, are you?”

“No. I feel _sympathy_ for you; you’re my friend, and I don’t want to see you resign yourself to being alone when there’s some possibility I can be of aid. That’s the primary reason I offered in the first place, but it’s certainly not the only reason.” He smiled reassuringly. “I _like_ sex, Liam. I always have. I rarely turn down an opportunity to engage in it.”

“Thanks, Tom. Uh… does this make us lovers or something? That would be kinda too weird for me. I mean, I’m not gay.”

“Neither am I. It doesn’t mean we’re dating, I assure you. We’re _friends,_ Liam. If you think sex will change that, then we’ll call this a one of. Otherwise, I’m quite willing to continue until you feel you can maintain control with a more… fragile partner.”

“Okay. I do think… I mean, yeah. I’d like to try again. You may be right about the biting me thing. It really is potent. I really do like Molly, a lot, and I… I could have killed her, if this happened with her. I’ve got to get control, or be alone, like you said. I don’t want that, but I won’t take a chance on hurting her, or someone else.”

“Then it’s settled. Are you alright? I do need to be somewhere soon, but I don’t want to leave if you’re still feeling… distressed by this.”

“No, I’m fine. I think I’ll go for another run, after you’re gone. The washroom’s just down the hall, if you want to get cleaned up.”

“Yes, thank you, I do.”

“And Tom… thanks. It means a lot, having you for a friend.”

“You’re very welcome, Liam. I value your friendship quite a lot. As I said, we creatures of the night have to stick together.”

\---

Undisclosed location, Secret Base: (22 April, near midnight)

“Ah, good evening, Thomas. I’m glad you could join us.”

“Good evening, Mycroft…” Thomas smiled and nodded to the others. “Gentlemen. You said my services might be required. I assume by the design inscribed on the floor we’ll be summoning something?”

“Yes. There is a demon loose in London, a kind known as a skin-walker. We’re about to summon a hell-hound to track it down, and I wanted you on hand in case, for some reason, I can’t control the beast. Do you have any experience with swords, by any chance?”

“I’ve kept up my fencing skills, though I must admit my experience with larger blades is limited to a few stage plays from my university days. Still, I imagine my speed and strength might make up for any lack of skill to some extent.”

“Quite right. That was my thinking exactly.”

“And the demon itself; what is your plan to deal with it?”

“I have recently acquired some ability as a sorcerer. I have a spell that should return it to Hell, and another one that will contain it temporarily should that fail. The rest of you will be armed with swords and weapons loaded with explosive rounds, as we’ll need to decapitate it should my spells fail. Are you experienced with guns?”

“Yes. I’m quite a good shot, actually.”

“Excellent. Choose your weapons, gentlemen. It’s time to begin the incantation.”

Mycroft stepped closer to the circle as the group armed themselves. He draped a long, heavy iron chain around his neck. Attached to one end was a thick iron collar. Holding a ruby in one hand and a large, honey-soaked oat cake in the other, he began his incantation.

_“Nusku Shiptu ati Erset peta babkama la taru ana aepiya Urbat semu Sharur eli mulla Xul.”_

They watched anxiously as what appeared to be black smoke rose from the design, swirling in strange patterns within the circle. Two large shining orbs, one of silver and one of gold, appeared near the ceiling, about six meters from the floor. The black smoked thickened, lightening to a dark grey as it coalesced into an enormous dog-like shape. The overhead lights flickered, plunging them into darkness for an instant before coming back on to reveal a gigantic iron-grey wolf. It stood almost seven meters tall, its lowered head brushing the ceiling and its paws tucked neatly together within the circle. It stared at them with glowing eyes, one of shining gold, the other a lustrous silver.

“Mycroft… that’s _not_ a hell-hound.” Sherlock stared back at it. He could sense a pressure in his mind. Whatever it was, it was less powerful than Lucifer, but at least as strong as Oberon. “It’s a Power of some sort, a very strong one.”

“Silence. Nobody move.” Mycroft forced himself to remain calm as he slowly reached into his pocket, drawing out another ruby. Whatever this creature was, he’d try to send it back to Hell. _“Shiptu taru seru Urbat Erset la taru.”_

 ** _“Nicely done, little human, but pointless. A sorcerer in the Earth realm? Things really are changing.”_** Although the creature hadn’t moved, they could hear its voice echoing loudly in their minds. It sounded amused. Sherlock staggered, his head ringing with the sound. The beast cocked its head, looking at the group curiously.

“I don’t think he’s hostile”, Thomas said softly. The wolf’s ears were flattened to the side by the ceiling, but its tail was relaxed. “Look at his body language.”

**_“You have an interesting scent, night-walker. You’ve been frolicking with one of my children. Count yourself fortunate that I smell more than his blood on you.”_ **

“Sherlock…” John grabbed his arm, steadying him. Sherlock felt dampness on his lip, and reached up, wiping away a small smear of blood that was dripping from his nose. He noted that while some of the others had winced when the creature spoke, it seemed to affect him much more strongly.

 ** _“Ah, I’m distressing your Seer. Where are my manners?”_** The creature’s form wavered back into grey smoke, condensing into the form of a man. Grinning, he stepped to the edge of the circle to stand in front of Mycroft. He was slightly taller than Mycroft, with a slender, sinewy build. His high-cheek-boned face was handsome and youthful despite his long iron-grey hair. Entirely nude, the only indication he wasn’t human was his strange, odd-colored eyes. “Better?” He stopped just short of the circle’s edge, looking curiously at Mycroft.

“Who are you?” Mycroft spoke softly but firmly, meeting the being’s penetrating gaze unflinchingly.

“I have many names in the mortal realm, but you can call me Fenris. Who are you? I would like to know who I have the pleasure of thanking for opening the portal.”

“I am Mycroft Holmes.”

“And what do you want with a hell-hound, Mycroft Holmes? I’m assuming you didn’t intend to summon me.”

“There is a demon loose in the city. We wish to track it. The spell I used was very specific. How did you come through instead?”

“I’m the God of canines, among other things. You asked for a supreme hunting dog so that’s what you got… The Top Dog.”

“Then you’re obligated to obey me.”

“Obligated? No. Inclined? Maybe. I’d have gotten out eventually, but I am not lacking in gratitude.” He chuckled, reaching out to finger the lapel of Mycroft’s jacket. “Is _this_ how humans are dressing these days? It seems a bit excessive.”

“You shouldn’t be able to reach beyond the circle.” He glanced over in warning as Greg stepped closer, hand on his gun.

“This? I’m a _God_ , Mycroft Holmes. Unless you’ve got a magic ribbon made of cat’s footsteps, bird spit and other little oddities, you’re out of luck there.”

“Gleipnir…Then you’re _that_ Fenris? The wolf of Ragnarok?”

“That’s all very old news. Over and done. Ate the sun, the moon, my sort-of grandfather… blah, blah, blah. My destiny was fulfilled. I’m a free agent now. How interesting your language is! A bit dull without all the kennings, but so much more concise. It did get a bit much. Humans like to complicate things.” He snorted. “Ship instead of wave-steed, warrior instead of feeder-of-ravens… I think I like it.” He stepped to the side, slightly outside of the circle and looked Greg up-and-down. “That looks much more comfortable. Is that what warriors wear?”

“What do you want, Fenris?” Mycroft turned towards him, trying to take his attention away from Greg.

“A less elaborate set of clothing than yours, for one thing. What’s that called; the tunic you’re wearing?”

“A sweatshirt”, Greg replied drily.

“That doesn’t sound very appealing. Are you being punished?”

“Fenris, I’d be glad to see you’re provided with suitable clothing, but what do you want, here on Earth?”

“Dinner would be nice for starters. Is that for me?” He took the honey-cake from Mycroft and devoured in in two bites. “I’m starving. There’s not much worth eating in Hell. What kind of demon are you after?”

“A skin-walker.”

“Bleh. I’ll have to skin it first. I don’t care for the taste of humans.”

“Then you’ll help us?”

“If you’ll help me.”

“Help you how?”

“Well, I’ll need a place to stay until I get my bearings, and a bit of catching up on things. There’s so much I don’t know about your modern Earth. So many words in my mind with no meaning… What’s a car?”

“A means of locomotion. A… sort of mechanical carriage, without horses.”

“Really? How very interesting. So, Mycroft Holmes, do we have a deal? I’ll track and eat this demon of yours, and you’ll let me stay at your… castle? You don’t live in a hut or a cave or something, do you? Sorcerers stay in the oddest places…”

“It’s a manor home. And what guarantee do I have that you’ll… behave yourself?”

“Well, none, really, but what other choice do you have? Let me go out into the world, alone and unsupervised… I think that’d be very irresponsible of you, don’t you?”

“We have a deal… temporarily. But we have laws and rules of conduct in this country. I expect you to follow them, and not to cause a disturbance.”

“Me? I’ll be as tame as a God _can_ be, so long as my needs are met.”

“Such as?”

“Oh, just the usual things; food, shelter, mead, room to run… _sex_.” He grinned at Thomas, showing a very wolfish set of fangs. “I see that at least _one_ of you is up for that sort of thing. And, as I said, I’ll need your council on this modern world of yours. I can’t be expected to follow your customs if I don’t know them.”

“What sort of food?”

“Meat, mostly. Elk, venison, beef, mutton… that sort of thing. But no horses. It’s… taboo? That’s the right word, I think. I promised my half-brother I wouldn’t eat any of his people and he promised to quit kicking me…”

“I’m sure that can be arranged. Room to run might provide a bit of difficulty for a wolf of your size, however.”

“I can be normal wolf-sized. I’d hope a wizard could at least manage suitable space for that. Is rassragr not a taboo here, or is that just a thing vampires do? I mean, no offense intended, but you are a sorcerer...”

“Rassragr? I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the word.”

“Mm, how to say it in your tongue… buggery? Is that the word? Letting another man mount you. Odin’s little tribe was quite unpleasant about that sort of thing, but I’m my father’s son as far as that goes. Not that I don’t like females, but I’m not trying to breed a pack of pups…”

“Ah. No, it’s not taboo. It’s quite legal here, though some do still discriminate against those of us who are gay.”

“Is he your mate?” He looked over at Greg. “He seems very protective of you.”

“Yes. We’re engaged to be married.”

“They let you do that here? Things have changed. But then you Britons were always friendlier with that sort of thing. That is where I am… Briton?”

“Yes. England, to be more precise.”

“Well, then. Let’s get this hunt over with so I can get to the fun bits.” He grinned, dissolving into smoke and transforming to a grey wolf that was just a bit larger than normal sized. _“Take me to the place this demon was last seen, and I’ll track it from there. But I’m not wearing that chain… no one will ever chain me up again.”_

Sherlock’s headache was nearly gone. He was relieved Fenris’s voice was quieter when he was smaller.

\---

Thomas’s Mercedes: (23 April, early AM)

“Fenris? That _is_ unexpected. I’d forgotten he was down there. He’s not damned, really. He was in Hela’s domain, in Niflheim. It’s adjacent to Hell, but not part of it.” Lucifer sighed on the other end of the mobile. “I do apologize, detective. As I recall, I let him in Hell as a favor to her some time ago. Something about him knocking up her handmaidens. She just wouldn’t shut up about it. That woman really has no sense of humor.”

“How dangerous is he? Mycroft apparently can’t banish him.”

“Well, no, I’d expect not. He can’t banish a creature to Hell that doesn’t belong there. Fenris is fairly powerful, as Immortals go, but your brother could probably send him back to Hela’s domain. I wouldn’t recommend it, though. That would piss her off royally, and she’s not a lady you want angry with you.”

“And he can’t be banished to some other realm?”

“Technically yes, but he’s strong enough to upset the balance of power in most realms, and that can cause all sorts of unforeseen problems. His father’s in Jotunheim, or what’s left of it, anyway; you could perhaps send him there, but you really _don’t_ want to get Loki’s attention either.”

“Then what can we do? How dangerous is he?”

“He is, I think, a bit like me; potentially very dangerous, but not terribly inclined to be so unless he has reason. He’s a bit touchy on the subject of canines, especially in regard to wolves, but as there’s no wolves in England to be hunted, you should be fairly safe on that point. He could actually be of great help to you. He’s been in Hell long enough to know about most of the common demon types, and letting him devour the troublemakers among them is an effective method of banishing them.”

“Does he have any weaknesses?”

“Not specific ones. There’s a special way of restraining him, but your brother isn’t skilled enough yet and I doubt you could assemble the necessary ingredients. You’d need dwarves for that, and they generally want something nasty in return. They’re evil little buggers to make deals with. The best option is that one of you could mate with him. He’s like any wolf in that way. Once he sees someone as part of his pack, he’s quite protective of them.”

“That might present some difficulties.” Sherlock glanced at Thomas, hoping the vampire’s hearing wasn’t keen enough to hear Lucifer. The vampire might be willing to bond with Fenris through sex, but he was uncomfortable putting that much power in his hands.

“Well, I know my feelings would be hurt if you had that three-way with him after turning _me_ down. Perhaps your brother would take one for the team. He’s the wizard in your little group, so it’s more his obligation anyway. He’s the one who freed him, so a sex-bond is almost assured.”

“I’ll be sure to pass your advice on to him.” Sherlock laughed softly. Mycroft wouldn’t be pleased.

“Do keep him away from the women, though. He’s incapable of having sex with a female without knocking her up, and I don’t think you want a pack of baby were-wolves running about.”

“Yes, he mentioned something about that. I take it magic trumps modern contraceptives?”

“Yes. He’s not a bad sort, really. He’s a bit mischievous, but not generally malicious. Keep him in food, sex and alcohol and he’ll probably be manageable. I envy him a bit, really. He’s fulfilled his purpose, so he’s actually one of the few beings in the realms that’s truly free of Destiny. He’s not ambitious, so he probably just wants to have a bit of fun. If he really becomes a problem, I’ll drag him back to Hell manually. I should be able to rig up some sort of restraint, but I’m going to want a certain favor in return.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.” He cut the connection and sighed.

“No good, then?”, John asked.

“Not much. He’s offered to deal with him if he becomes a problem, but you can guess what he wants in return.”

“Yeah.” John frowned, the lines in his brow furrowing. “He’s a bit too keen on you for my comfort.”

“You needn’t worry, John. You’re far more tempting to me than he is. I suppose I should text Mycroft and let him know.”

SH: _He can’t be banished without getting the attention of much more dangerous Powers_.

MH: _Weaknesses?_

SH: _No but if you let him rassragr you, he’ll bond to you_.

MH: _Don’t be absurd._

SH: _Think of England…_

MH: _You do it then._

SH: _L. says it’s your obligation. You summoned him, so the bond is almost assured. Perhaps Greg can join in._

MH: _Is there no other way?_

SH: _Nothing practical. Deal with evil dwarves, angry Gods or sex. Those are your options._

MH: _Damn._

\---

Author’s notes: Fenris (also called Fenrir and other names) is the Asgardian wolf of Ragnarok. The son of Loki and a giantess, it was prophesied that he would bring about the fall of the Gods by devouring Odin. He was bound by a magical chain called Gleipnir, forged by dwarves from six impossible things until the time of Ragnarok. While some legends attribute the devouring of the Sun and Moon to other wolf entities, there is discrepancy in the various tales, and I have chosen to combine them. His right eye contains the power of Asgard’s Sun and his left Asgard’s Moon. The taboo against eating horses comes from his deal with Slepnir, his half-brother (from Loki), who was Odin’s magical eight-legged steed


	15. Very Wicked and Entirely Sexy

Mycroft’s sedan: (22 April, early AM)

 _“What is that? Why is it screaming? It’s very shiny…”_ Fenris clambered across Greg’s lap, peering out the window with great excitement.

“It’s a fire engine.” Greg couldn’t help smiling at Fenris’s childlike delight at seeing modern London. Like every other canine in the history of cars, he’d stuck his head out the window, drinking in the strange new scents.

_“It causes fire? Is there a battle somewhere?”_

“No, it puts them out. It’s got its siren on so people know to give it the right of way.” He glanced over at Mycroft, who was trying to text while fending off a wagging wolf tail.

“Fenris, can you hear our thoughts?” Mycroft frowned, more than a little concerned about the idea.

_“No. I can just talk without my mouth when I want to. I like the car. I smell food. Can we get food now? And mead?”_

“After you deal with our demon problem, we’ll get food. I dunno where to get mead, but I’m pretty sure you’ll like beer. It’s our version of mead.”

_“What is Mycroft Holmes doing? Is that magic? It doesn’t smell like magic.”_

“It’s a mobile. We use it to communicate with people.”

“Can you read, Fenris?” Mycroft glanced up from his mobile, looking at Greg unhappily.

_“No. Why would I need runes? I’m not a sorcerer.”_

“Ah. It’s common for people to be able to read these days. It’s not just for sorcerers.” Sighing, he handed Greg the mobile. “We’ll see about teaching you, if you’d like.”

“Shit.” Greg read the texts a second time just to make sure he understood them. “What do you wanna do? Are you considering this?”

“I… I’m entirely out of my area here. What do _you_ think we should do?”

“Uh-uh. I’m not makin’ _that_ decision. I’ll go along with whatever _you_ decide… And I do mean _with_. No way I’m lettin’ you do something like that without me. What about Thomas? He seems like he might be into that sorta thing.”

“It had occurred, but it seems like an awful lot of power to put in his hands. I still don’t trust him enough for that.”

“Yeah, I agree with you on that.”

“Is this… Have you ever done this sort of thing?”

“Once… almost. This couple I knew in Uni wanted to give it a try, but it was really awkward, and I ended up leavin’ before much happened.”

“Was that due to… moral objections?”

“Not really. She was into it, but he started into all these rules about _things_ not touching _him_ , if you get my drift… It just got kinda weird.”

“I think I do. Would this be something you’d be comfortable with?”

“Me? I’m more worried about _you_ bein’ comfortable with it.” Greg was a bit surprised that Mycroft hadn’t completely rejected the idea instantly.

_“What is that? It’s in the sky! Do you have giant bugs here? Greg Lestrade, what is that?”_

“It’s a helicopter. It’s kinda like a car that can fly.”

_“Can we ride it? I want to ride it.”_

“Not tonight. Maybe someday. And don’t hang out of the car so far, okay? Keep your paws inside. You’re gonna scratch the paint job.” He turned back to Mycroft, trying to read his expression. “You _don’t_ gotta do this. I don’t care what _he_ told Sherlock about obligations. If you’re not comfortable with it, that’s the end of the discussion, right there.”

“I… don’t know quite how to feel about it, really”, he admitted quietly. “I wouldn’t want it to change things between us, for one thing.”

“Well, it wouldn’t. Not with me, anyway. I love you, and nothing’s ever gonna change that. Do you think it might change how you feel about me?”

“Of _course_ not. The way I feel about you, that thing I can’t say… I’ll _never_ feel that way about anyone else. I hope you know that.”

“I do know, Mycroft. I just wanted to make sure you knew it too. Is this something _you’d_ be interested in? It’s okay to admit it if you are, lover. It won’t hurt me, I promise.”

“I… don’t know how I feel, really. I would have expected the idea to repulse me, yet I find it doesn’t. It does seem a bit excessive, but I find myself somewhat… intrigued. I really don’t understand why.” He felt his face becoming flush with embarrassment. He wondered vaguely why he wasn’t horrified, but there was something strangely erotic in the idea of the two of them sharing another man, and Fenris’s human form was, he had to admit, quite appealing. He sighed softly. It was something he’d have never noticed before sex became a part of his life. “Is it something you’d be… interested in?”

“Well, it’s not like it’s on my bucket list, but if _you_ wanna, then I’m interested. I don’t want you doin’ it out of some sense of obligation, but if it’s really got you intrigued, that’s fine. Seein’ you get hot is what turns me on.” He smiled softly at Mycroft and reached over to take his hand. He was, in reality, more than a little intrigued with the idea himself, but this was a decision Mycroft needed to make. He didn’t want his lover to feel any more pressured into it than he already was. “I just don’t want you to do anything you’d regret.”

“You wouldn’t be jealous?”

“I got too much faith in your love for that. How about you?”

“As difficult as accepting it has been, I find I have the same level of faith in your feelings for me. I would, perhaps, be a bit envious, however. I’ll never look like… that.” He frowned slightly, comparing his body to Fenris’s human form.

“You’re the most beautiful, sexiest man in the world to me, Mycroft. The _only_ thing I’d change about you is that I wish you could see yourself like I do.” Unable to lean over and kiss him with a large wolf lounging in his lap, he settled for bringing Mycroft’s hand to his lips and gently kissing it.

“That’s very… romantic, really.” He smiled lovingly at Greg, then laughed softly. “It’s probably for the best that I don’t. I’m sure I’d be insufferably vain if I did.”

_“Why is there a man on that castle? His face is so big! Is he a God? I don’t smell a God.”_

“It’s an advertisement, Fenris. It’s just a picture that moves.”

 _“I like your world. It’s very exciting.”_ He pulled his head out of the window and looked curiously at Greg and Mycroft. _“Are you talking about having sex with me? I’d like to join your pack. I like you. It would be an advantage for your pack, to have a god in it.”_

“We haven’t made any decisions yet, so don’t get too excited. We’ve never done anything like this, and I wanna make sure it’s the right thing to do.”

_“You both smell like you want to. I’m very good at sex. You seem well-mated, Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade. That’s why I want to be in your pack. A strong mated pair makes a strong pack.”_

“Yeah, I think we’re well-mated too. But if… and I do mean if, because we’re still deciding, but if we do, no wolf stuff. You gotta be human. You do understand that, don’t you?”

_“Of course I do. Humans are usually like that. It’s better in human form anyway because getting stuck is boring. Then you have to wait to get unstuck to have sex again. I can sense what you’re like when you’re interested in me. I think it’s because I’ve eaten a lot of succubi. I think you, Mycroft Holmes, need me to be gentle with you. I don’t think you’ve had much sex before you met your mate. And Greg Lestrade, I think you have had a lot of sex and don’t want me to be gentle. And as humans go, you are both appealing. You have a voice like a wolf, Greg Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes has a very fine arse. I noticed it when he got in the car. And he smells like he has a lot of power. Power is… sexy? Is that the right word.”_

“Yeah.” Greg grinned at Mycroft. “Christ, he’s got us down, doesn’t he?”

“Quite” A small smile flickered across Mycroft’s lips. “And Fenris… you can just refer to us by our first names. People don’t generally use both names in conversation.”

_“I was being polite but I like that better. Do I need two names?”_

“It’s customary, yes.”

 _“Then I will be called Fenris Lokison._ ” His ears pricked up and he thrust his head back out the window. _“I smell blood and death and a demon. We must be close to where it hunted.”_

\---

Crime scene: (23 April, early AM)

_“I have the scent. The demon went this way.”_

“Fenris, slow down! Remember we’re not as fast as you.”

 _“It hasn’t gone far._ ” Fenris turned down a side street, pawing at the boarded-up window of an abandoned building. Greg recognized it as a known hide-out for junkies and homeless people. _“It’s in here!”_

“Wait. There may be innocent people in there, so we gotta be careful.”

_“If the demon sees me, it will try to run. Do you know how to hunt with a pack? I run very fast, but you should flank me so it won’t get away.”_

“Sherlock, you and John cover the front. Thomas, you take the back, and Mycroft and me will follow Fenris.”

“Can demons sense vampires, Fenris? I could go in first and scout the building in bat form.”

_“Some of them can, but skin-walkers are pretty stupid unless the skin they take is very smart. Will you know the demon when you see it? You need a good nose to smell skin-walkers. They smell a lot like their skin if it is fresh.”_

“I don’t know, but I can at least find out if there’s anyone else inside.”

“Good plan. We’ll check the other windows while you do that and make sure there’s no more exits we need to cover. We’ll meet back here.”

Thomas transformed into a bat, squeezing through a small gap at the top of the window. The group made a circuit of the building’s exterior, finding a window in the rear of the building where the plywood had been pulled off. A few minutes later, Thomas reappeared.

“There’s an elderly male in the southwest room on the lower floor, a young couple on the second floor, and a middle-aged, somewhat muscular gentleman in the basement.”

“The couple… what kinda build does the guy have?”

“Slender. They both have that unfortunate skeletal look common among heavy drug users.”

“Fenris, is a skin-walker built like the person whose skin it took?”

_“Yes.”_

“Then the one in the basement’s our demon. Thomas, how many ways are there to get down there?”

“Two, including the stairway, but the other one is a very small, boarded-up window. It’s unlikely it could escape through there, unless it has some sort of size-changing ability.”

“Fenris?”

_“Only if it takes its skin off. Then they can be stretchy. It would be best if I got big and swallowed it whole after I take the skin off. They can be hard to chew.”_

“The basement ceiling’s not very high. If he transforms, he’s going to take out the entire ground floor, including the stairway.”

 “Okay, new plan. Sherlock, you and John evac the couple. I’ll get the old guy, while Fenris and Thomas make sure the demon doesn’t come upstairs. Mycroft, you feel safe guarding the basement window?”

“Yes. Fenris, if it tries to escape, I have the option of using fire, lightning or ice. Which would be most effective?”

_“Fire won’t do anything but burn off the skin. Lightning might stun it if it’s strong enough. Ice over the window would keep it in if it’s thick enough. It’s only as strong as the skin was unless it sheds. Then it’s only a little stronger than a strong human.”_

“Excellent. I’ll use ice if need be, and keep the lightning in reserve if that’s ineffective.”

“Good. Once the building’s clear, Fenris will take down the demon. Thomas, can you handle the floor crashing in on you? I don’t wanna send him in without back-up.”

“Yes, as long as I have time to transform to mist before the wooden flooring comes down on us.”

“Fine. Put your mobile on vibrate. I’ll text you when the building’s clear. Fenris, make sure he’s got time to get out before you get big.”

_“I will do that. I know how to hunt with a pack, Greg.”_

\---

Abandoned building, upper floor: (23 April, early AM)

“This is _our_ squat. We’re not leaving.” The young man staggered to his feet, pulling a knife out and trying to look threatening. “Why should we? You gonna try and make us?” Sherlock and John exchanged amused glances. They could tell by the way he held the knife that he wasn’t experienced in fighting with it.

“Because a giant wolf God is about to manifest in the basement, destroying the stairway in the process, and devour a skin-walker demon.” Sherlock spoke very matter-of-factly, as if it were a common occurrence.

“Wow, who’s your dealer, mate? I want some of what _you’re_ on.”

“Dav, that’s what I saw in my dream! Let’s go, please. I’m scared.” She tugged at his arm, eyes wide with fear. “You know I was right about the raid yesterday. We’d have got nicked with the others if it wasn’t for me.”

“Fine. We’ll go see if Gary’s still up.” He glared defiantly at Sherlock. “But don’t think _you’re_ scaring us off.”

“Of course not.” Sherlock slipped his hand in his pocket, handing the young woman his business card. “If you want to know why your dreams are coming true, you might find your answers here.”

They followed the couple down the stairs, making sure they were clear of the building. They found Greg outside, giving the old man a ten-pound note.

“Softie.” John grinned at him as the old man shoved the note in his shoe and shuffled off. “He’s probably just going to spend it on booze.”

“Yeah, but it was the easiest way to roust him. Let’s go join Mycroft. I don’t like leavin’ him alone in a place like this.”

“You do know my brother’s perfectly capable of defending himself, even without magic.”

“That ain’t the point.” Greg pulled out his mobile, sending the _all clear_ signal to Thomas as they headed to the other side of the building. A few moments later, they heard a loud scream. Thomas joined them soon after. Perched on his shoulder was a large rat.

“What’s with the rat?” Greg grimaced at Thomas, trying to hide his disgust. He’d seen enough rat-chewed bodies to have acquired a strong dislike for them.

“It didn’t seem quite sporting to leave the poor fellow down there. One gains a certain sense of sympathy for them when one can command them.” He picked it up, setting the creature on the ground. “Off you go, then. Find yourself a nice safe sewer.”

“Has Fenris got...” Another loud scream, followed by an even louder crashing sound, interrupted Mycroft’s question as the ground floor gave way, falling down into the basement. The building shook slightly, puffs of dust coming out of gaps where the windows were boarded up.

“I presume that would be a yes, elder brother.”

There was a few minutes of silence, punctuated by the occasional sounds of bits of wood and plaster giving way, then a very dusty Fenris came bounding around the corner.

_“I have eaten the demon. Can I have food and beer and sex now?”_

“You just ate a _demon_.” Thomas looked at Fenris curiously. “Didn’t that fill you up?”

 _“Demons don’t stay in your belly very long. They just go back to Hell. That’s one of the worst parts of being there. I was always hungry.”_ ’

“Huh.” Greg grinned at Thomas. “Kinda like Chinese food. An hour later and you’re hungry again.”

\---

Mycroft’s Sedan: (23 April, mid AM)

_“When we get to your manor, there will be food and… beer and sex?”_

“Food and beer, definitely.” Greg looked over at Mycroft. His lover blushed a bit, nodding slightly. He was intrigued, but having some measure of control over such a powerful being had been the deciding factor.

“Yes, I believe so. However…” Mycroft sighed, brushing a bit of dust off his jacket. “Fenris, you’re right in your deduction that I have little experience with sex, and none where more than two people are involved. I find I can’t predict how I might react. It may be that I might become… overwhelmed, or panic. I need you to understand that if that does happen, it’s not about you.”

“And if he does need to stop, we stop. You gotta respect that.”

_“I understand, Greg. Sex makes Mycroft feel nervous. You wish to have sex with me so we will oath-bond and I will be loyal to your pack. This is a thing I know. But you are not wolves. Your pack is a human pack. That makes me nervous. Humans are more devious than wolves. They lie and betray each other. Even Gods do that. I thought I was part of Odin’s pack but they tricked me. They said it was my destiny, but I wouldn’t have done those things if they hadn’t done that to me. So I am taking a big chance too. Mycroft, I have decided to trust you because of Greg. Odin was a sorcerer too. They have a lot of secrets so you are hard for me to trust. But I think Greg is like Tyr. I didn’t bite Tyr’s hand off because he betrayed me. He was my friend and it was his gift to me. It is hard to explain it to humans but oaths are important to Gods. When he gave me his hand, he gave me his power to swear oaths as a God. His gift means a lot to me. Do you understand this thing I have told you?”_

“I believe I _do_. I know the importance the Norse culture placed on oaths, and the magically-binding power of such oaths. This bond between us… would it happen with anyone you had sex with?”

_“Not once I have an oath-bond with you. I might bond with someone else if it wasn’t with you first, but maybe not. It will happen with you because you summoned me, so there is magic binding us together. It will happen with Greg because he will be there and he is your mate. I will let you mount me first because it is your pack. That is my way of making my oath to you that I acknowledge you as leader of our pack. I don’t want to lead a human pack. You can understand humans better. I just want to be part of a pack again.”_

“Fenris, it you’re gonna stay with us, there’s a few rules you need to know. First off, my nephew Tim is stayin’ with us, and I won’t have him put in any kind of danger. Lay one hand or paw on him, and God or not, I’ll see that you regret it. We clear on that?”

_“I won’t hurt him. He is part of your pack, and when you and I bond, we’ll be pack brothers. Can I play with him? It is good to play with the pups in a pack.”_

“As long as _he_ wants to and you don’t hurt him. But no tryin’ to have sex with him, either. He’s just sixteen, and when he’s ready for that sort of thing, I want it to be with someone appropriate, and preferably a nice, normal boy his own age.”

_“That seems old to not have mated yet, but I will honor that rule.”_

“Yeah, well modern humans mate later in life than the Vikings did, I guess.”

“Fenris, what are your feelings on fairies? We have fairies in my back garden and I don’t want you harming them.” Mycroft had begrudgingly changed his mind about the fairies. They had proven to be quite useful in introducing people to the existence of magical creatures.

_“I like Fairies but if there are gnomes or goblins I might eat them. Some of them are okay but some of them kill wolves and foxes. Fairies make peace with us.”_

“There’s only fairies, so it should be fine, then. I also have a household staff. You need to know that most of them don’t yet know about magic. I’m currently in the process of deciding which of them can be trusted with that knowledge and which of them I need to find other employment for. Until I tell you otherwise, it’s best if you don’t do anything… magical around them.”

_“I understand. Humans get afraid with magic. They might scream or try to fight me. I will honor that rule too. Does Tim know about magic?”_

“Yes, somewhat. He doesn’t know I’m a sorcerer yet, but that’s only because it’s very recent, and I haven’t had the chance to tell him yet. I’ll have a talk with him in the morning, when I explain about you. Until then, it’s best he not know your true nature.”

_“Good. I understand keeping secrets from servants, but I don’t like to keep secrets from pack members. It’s not the good for the pack.”_

\---

Mycroft’s washroom: (23 April mid AM)

“It’s like magic! You have a small waterfall in your manor home.” Having literally wolfed down nearly everything edible in the refrigerator along with two six packs of beer, Fenris had changed back to human form. Greg eyed his lean, muscular body with casual appreciation, finding himself hoping that Mycroft was going to be comfortable with the three-way. His lover had come a long way in the short time they’d been together, but this was taking things to a whole new level. Still, if things went well, it could help boost Mycroft’s confidence in his body and expressing his sexuality to see that he wasn’t the only person to find him sexually attractive.

“Yeah, it’s called a shower. You understand how to work it now?”

“Yes, it seems simple. I like the toilet too. It seems a lot better for humans than a pot or going outside in the winter.”

“We clear on you not drinking out of it?” Greg grinned, thinking of how he’d had to explain it wasn’t a water bowl. Fenris had been fascinated by the swirling water, flushing it several times and demanding to know where it went.

“Yes. Mycroft thinks hygiene is very important. I don’t think I like the tooth brush but I will use it too, so you will kiss me. I like kissing. It’s like jaw-fighting for humans. All of you have short hair. Is that how warriors wear their hair now?”

“Mostly. Some guys have long hair, but most of us cut it short.”

“Then I want to borrow your sword and some string. I’ll make a braid and cut it off. A guest should give a gift, and it would be a good gift for Mycroft. A sorcerer could do a lot with the hair of a God.”

“Yeah, I’ll see if I can find you a pair of scissors. That’d be easier than a sword. And try not to get hair everywhere. Mycroft like things kept tidy and clean.” He started to leave, then turned back to Fenris.

“Look, you said you understand you need to be gentle with Mycroft, but there’s more to it than just him being less experienced than me. He really doesn’t get how sexy he is, and I’m tryin’ to build his confidence up.”

“Sorcerers can be like that sometimes. They’re too busy with runes and magic to have bodies like warriors, and some warriors look down on them for that. That’s very strange to me because sorcerers have power, and power is sexy. I can smell a lot of magic power in him. I heard what you said about him being beautiful. You’re a good mate for him, Greg. I see humans differently than you. To me wolves are beautiful, but I can see humans as sexy when they have power. You are both sexy but Mycroft has more power so he’s sexier than you. I hope you aren’t insulted when I say that.”

“Nah”, Greg chuckled. “I’m glad you see it that way. I think he’s the sexy one too.”

\---

Mycroft’s bedroom: (23 April, mid AM)

“You still sure you wanna go through with this? I don’t want you doin’ this if you’re not sure.” Greg stood behind Mycroft in the closet, nibbling on his neck while he unbuttoned his lover’s shirt.

“As sure as I _can_ be. I admit I’m nervous, but I think that’s in great part because I’m not entirely sure I won’t embarrass myself by panicking. It _is_ a bit daunting, thinking of letting someone other than you touch me in that way, but…”

“But you’re a little turned-on by it too, aren’t you?” Greg could feel Mycroft’s burgeoning erection through the fabric of his trousers as he unfastened them.

“Yes”, he admitted, blushing a bit. “Does that seem odd to you?”

“I’m kinda turned-on by it too, so I guess not. I’m a bit surprised you’re up for it, but I think it could be a good thing, if it works out right.”

“In what way? Other than ensuring his loyalty, of course.”

“Well, yeah, there’s that, but I’m the only man you’ve ever been with. I think the experience might give you a little more confidence in just how damn sexy you really are.” He bent his head, kissing Mycroft’s bare shoulder.

“It seems so strange; the way I feel about it. I should think I’d be quite jealous of the idea of watching you with another man, yet I find the mental image it presents to be _very_ erotic. Is that… abnormal?”

“Nah, I kinda feel the same way. I think it’s because it’s something we’re doin’ _together_. I got a thing about bein’ cheated on. If I thought you were cheatin’ on me with some other man, I dunno what I’d do. Probably kick his ass or shoot him. But this is more like just… expandin’ our horizons together. Plus, I kinda get a kick outta bein’ able to show you off, if you know what I mean.”

“Yes. I think I feel much the same. There is a certain thrill for me as well in the idea of showing you off, as you put it. I’m _very_ proud that you’re mine. I hope you know, I would never betray you, Greg. I’ve been thinking about _why_ I don’t feel threatened by the idea of letting someone other than you touch me, and I believe the reason I’m able to do so is because of the amount of trust I have in you. You make me feel very safe and… protected.”

“I trust you too, lover. You’re the center of my whole world, Mycroft.” He turned him in his arms for a passionate kiss, then led him into the bedroom.

\---

Sherlock and John’s bedroom: (23 April, med AM)

“Do you think they’re really going to have a three-way with Fenris?” John wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know, but his curiosity had got the better of him. “It’s hard to imagine your brother would go along with something like that. Not that I _want_ to imagine it…”, he shuddered a little at the unwanted mental picture. “It just doesn’t seem like something he’d do.”

“I presume so. What my brother _doesn’t_ say often speaks volumes.” He was reclining naked on the bed, enjoying the view as John bent over to take off his shoes. “If he wasn’t considering it, he’d have made a point of denying it.”

“Oh.” John snickered as he removed his trousers and pants. “ _Think of England_ … You enjoyed that bit, didn’t you?”

“I may have found it slightly amusing.” He flashed a quick grin, then suddenly focused a penetrating gaze on John. “Do you regret the fact that I wasn’t interested in a similar arrangement with Lucifer?”

“No, of course not.” John suppressed an urge to sigh and sat down beside him, putting his arms around Sherlock and smiling. “You’re all I need. I can barely keep up with you as it is.”

“You were a bit tempted, though. You did find him attractive.”

“Sherlock…” The sigh he’d suppressed escaped despite his efforts, and he bit back the retort that Sherlock had also found him attractive, remembering how traumatic it had been for him. “Finding someone desirable isn’t the same thing as actually desiring them.”

“And if I had been interested, what would you have said? Would you have agreed to a three-way with Lucifer if I’d wanted it?”

“I honestly don’t know. I think I’d have wanted to have a long talk with you about it first.”

“About what?”

“About _why_ you’d want it, for one thing. He’s been helpful; I’ll admit that, but he _is_ the Devil, and that power he has to reveal hidden desires… it’s not exactly playing fair, in my book. Dealing with desires like that isn’t exactly your area, and I’d have to know with absolute certainty that it was something you _truly_ wanted, and not some… temporary urge he was taking advantage of.”

“And if it wasn’t? Suppose it _was_ something I truly wanted to try. What would your answer be then?”

“Attractive as he may be, I’d be very reluctant to have sex with the Devil.” There was, John thought, no truly safe answer to the question.

“And if he wasn’t the Devil, what then? Would you agree to a three-way if I really wanted one?”

“Do you?”

“That’s beside the point.”

“Then what _is_ the point? Look, Sherlock, if having sex with two men at once was something you wanted very badly and I found the other man attractive, then yes, I’d probably agree to it because _you_ wanted it. Why are you being so persistent about asking me this?”

“Devil or not, _you_ wanted it, didn’t you?”

“Christ. Fine. I will admit, that for an instant; and _just_ an instant, mind you, I wondered what it might feel like to be in between the two of you. But just because I fantasized about it for an instant doesn’t mean I really _want_ to do it. That is a different thing altogether.”

“How is it different; fantasizing and wanting?”

“Because for one thing, actually wanting to do something has repercussions, where fantasy doesn’t.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, choosing his words carefully. “I would never want anything like that to happen in reality, because I truly believe that even if you forced yourself to agree to it for my sake, it would hurt you. No fantasy is worth that, because I love you too much to hurt you. Knowing it would hurt you makes the whole idea very unappealing to me.”

“I just want _you_ to be happy, John.”

“Is _that_ what all this is about? _You_ are all I need to make me happy.”

“Am I, really?”

“Yes, you _idiot_. I love you. You’re the man I love, my best friend, _and_ the best lover in the history of sex.”

“Am I really that good at it?”

“God, yes. Every time I think it couldn’t possibly get any better, it does. The blowjobs you give are beyond incredible, you get me off every time you top me, and just the thought of being inside you makes me hard as a rock. And watching you cum… Do you have any idea what that does to me? You are gorgeously, heart-wrenchingly beautiful when you orgasm and watching you, knowing _I’m_ the one that did that to you… It moves me in ways words can’t express.” He leaned over, kissing him passionately as he pressed him down on the bed.

“Then make me cum, John. I want to feel the heat of you, moving deep within me, cumming inside me.”

“See what you’ve done to me, with just a few words.” John ground his cock against Sherlock’s, kissing his shoulder as he reached for the lube. He knelt between his lover’s long legs as he poured the lube into his hand, warming it. Then he bent low, lavishing attention on Sherlock’s neck as he slid a finger inside him. His lover gasped as he found his prostate, massaging the sensitive gland with his fingertip. He kept it up until Sherlock’s body began to tremble from the orgasm, then he slid a second finger in, working his lover’s passage open. As much as seeing Sherlock casually pull _the object_ out of himself turned him on, he found this part of foreplay intensely erotic.

“Oh God, John… my love…” As John withdrew his fingers, reaching down to line his cock up with his lover’s entrance, Sherlock wrapped his legs across his shoulders. He let out a long, contented sigh as John’s cock pushed inside him.

John moaned as the head of his cock slipped through the tight ring of muscle, deep into the heat of his lover’s body. He shifted his angle as he thrust into him, gazing into his lover’s eyes. Sherlock moaned, his pupils widening as the head of John’s cock slid across his prostate. John’s movements quickened as Sherlock began to tremble.

“John, _ohhh_ … god, _Johnnn_ …” Panting, he clutched at the sheets, writhing in delicious ecstasy as John’s cock pressed against his prostate. John pounded into him, over-and-over, until he felt himself reaching the apex.

“Oh, God, Sherlock!” He came, pumping himself deep into his lover’s body as he cried out his name. As he finished, Sherlock unwrapped his legs from his neck and John fell on the bed beside him, smiling happily. He wiped the sweat from his brow and leaned over, kissing his lover while caressing Sherlock’s still-hard cock. “What shall we do about this, then?”

“I want inside you.” Sherlock grabbed the lube, then nibbled gently on John’s neck. “Will you ride me?”

“Gladly.” John shivered with anticipation as Sherlock’s long fingers caressed the sensitive nerves around his opening. He moaned softly as one slid in, finding his prostate with unerring precision and the perfect amount of pressure. He grinned happily, thinking he hadn’t been exaggerating. Sherlock _was_ the best lover in the history of sex.

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s bedroom: (23 April, mid AM)

“You cut your hair.” Mycroft looked up in surprise as Fenris came into the room and crawled onto the end of the bed. His once waist-length hair now stood up in short spikes of iron grey that highlighted his features, accentuating his sharp cheekbones and slightly pointed ears and giving him an almost elven look. “It looks quite nice that way.”

“Yeah, it suits you.” Greg gave way to the urge to ruffle his hair. It felt more like fur, stiff yet soft beneath his fingers.

“This is my gift for you, Mycroft. Since it is a God’s hair, you will find it useful as a sorcerer.” Fenris held out the braid in both hands, formally presenting it to him.

“Thank you. It’s a _very_ generous gift and I will use it appropriately.” He smiled, allowing himself to relax a bit. He’d read enough of the spell-book to understand the magnitude of the gift. If he had malicious intent, he could use this against Fenris, something the God of canines certainly knew. It was something he’d have usually dismissed as very foolish on Fenris’s part, but Mycroft found he was surprisingly touched by the gesture of trust. Feeling very unsure of himself, he sat the braid aside and looked to Greg to lead the way.

“We’ve never done this with another person, Fenris. How do _you_ wanna do this?”

“I want to kiss you both. Greg said he would do that with me if I used the toothbrush. Do you do that, Mycroft? I know some humans don’t, but I am very… oral? Is that the right word?”

“Yeah, that’s the right word.” Greg’s cock twitched a bit, and he chuckled softly, looking over at his lover. “Mycroft, that okay with you?”

“Yes, though I’m not sure how good I am at it…” For reason he didn’t quite understand, he felt more nervous about Fenris kissing him than the prospect of having sex with him. He glanced over at his lover, who was watching him with a mixture of protective concern and arousal. Greg reached over, putting a reassuring hand on his back.

“You’re a great kisser, lover.”

“I am? I…” His words trailed off as he watched a very naked wolf God crawl up the bed to kneel between them. Fenris leaned forward, putting his hands on Mycroft’s shoulders. Mycroft’s eyes widened in surprise as Fenris licked the corner of his mouth, then placed his lips against his, gently parting them with his tongue. The stiffness of Mycroft’s posture began to give way to a different kind of stiffness as the tip of Fenris’s tongue trailed sensuously against the roof of his mouth. There was hunger in Fenris’s kiss, combined with a gentleness made evident by the delicate way he tilted his head, keeping Mycroft’s tongue clear of his sharp canines.

Greg felt his lover’s tension beginning to fade under his touch, and he smiled gently as Mycroft responded to the kiss. He saw Mycroft’s breath quicken, and his own quickened in response. His eyes traveled down Fenris’s body, watching his erection grow, and he was pleased to see Mycroft’s effect on him.

“Greg is right. You are good at kissing.” He placed one hand on Mycroft’s thigh and the other on Greg’s shoulder, drawing him closer.

Mycroft watched as Fenris leaned over and kissed Greg, examining himself for jealously or envy and finding only erotic fascination. They were beautiful together; Greg’s silver hair contrasting with Fenris’s dark, metallic grey, and he felt emboldened by the knowledge that both of them wanted him.

Greg enjoyed the subtle, sensual battle that kissing Fenris presented. It was a playful contest for dominance, and he felt the tip of Fenris’s canine prick his lip, drawing a single drop of blood before the wolf God submitted, letting Greg control the kiss as he sucked the blood away.

Fenris pulled away, sitting with one hand on each of their thighs. He tugged gently at the sheet which covered the pair and grinned.

“I want to see you both. Can we get rid of this?”

“Yeah.” Greg looked over at Mycroft, wondering if his own pupils were as wide as his lover’s. He pushed the sheet off himself, watching Fenris lick his lips as he eyed his cock. “What do you wanna do next?”

“I want to lick your…” He looked at Mycroft, obviously searching for the right word. “Penis? Prick, cock, dick… you have so _many_ words for it! Which one is best? Whichever one, I want to do that. I want to make you so hard that you are aching to… fuck me. While you are doing that I can lick Greg. Then he can fuck me. Then I want to fuck one of you if you will let me. Or both of you. And maybe some more licking. I really like licking.”

“I think that can be arranged…” As he uncovered himself, Mycroft felt more than a little self-conscious, comparing his own body to the others’. It soon faded as Fenris’s strange eyes focused on his cock and lit up with obvious delight.

“Mycroft, you have a fine cock, worthy of a God.”

“Thank you.” Mycroft blushed and looked over at Greg, a little unsure of what else to say.

“He’s not wrong, lover.” Greg grinned, leaning over to kiss his lover. “It’s fuckin’ gorgeous.”

“Greg, I know you said no wolf stuff, but is letting my tongue be longer okay?” He crawled between Mycroft’s legs, gazing up at him with his gold and silver eyes. “My teeth are sharp and I don’t want to hurt you, so I can’t suck it like humans do. I think you will like what I can do with my tongue.”

“That would be… acceptable.” Mycroft found that he and his cock were both very curious to find out exactly what Fenris could do with his tongue. “Is it agreeable to you that Greg help… prepare you for me?”

“He can touch me or lick me or do whatever he wants, as long as you’re the first one to… which word is best? Cum? Ejaculate? Shoot?”

“While it’s not a word for polite discussion, cum is appropriate in this situation.”

“Cum. I need you to cum in me first.” He bent his head and parted his lips, wrapping an inhumanly long tongue around the base of Mycroft’s cock and sliding it up the shaft.

“Oh, dear God…”, Mycroft gasped, his eyes widening as Fenris’s tongue slid over the crown and back down.

“Does it feel _good_ , lover?” Greg grabbed the bottle off of the nightstand, leaning in to nibble the shivery spot on Mycroft’s neck. “Do you wanna see me try to make a God beg for your cock?”

“Yes”, he panted. “Ohh god… _yesss_ …” He watched, eyes bright with lust as Greg coated his fingers with lube. Greg kissed his way down Mycroft’s body, then knelt beside Fenris, trailing his fingertips down his spine. He kept one hand on his lover’s thigh as his fingers slid between Fenris’s cheeks, teasing at his entrance. He slipped one finger in, wondering how human Fenris’s internal anatomy was. After a few moments, he slid a second in beside it.

_“Yes, there, Greg! Rub that spot.”_

“Yeah?” He grinned with amusement and looked over at Mycroft. His lover was moaning with pleasure and watching in fascination as Greg fucked Fenris with his fingers. “You want that big beautiful cock in you, Fenris?”

 _“Yes, very much so.”_ Tongue still wrapped around Mycroft’s cock, he looked up eagerly at him. _“It has been almost a thousand years since I have allowed this. You are very sexy and I want your cock inside me.”_ His tongue released Mycroft’s cock and he looked up at him, eyes gleaming with desire. “Please… Will you fuck me now, Mycroft?”

“Yes…” Despite the aching, rock-hard status of his cock, he felt suddenly anxious, and he looked to Greg for reassurance. Greg slid over, giving Fenris room in the center of the bed, and held out his hand to his lover, smiling tenderly at him.

“Come here, lover.” He reached his arm across Fenris and took Mycroft’s hand. “It’s just us, expandin’ our horizons.” He drew him to his knees, pulling him into a kiss while the eager wolf God knelt between them. “You still alright?”

“ _You_ make me alright.” He smiled, running his hand lovingly across Greg’s cheek. “Guide me, Greg. I am in your hands.”

Greg gently led him to kneel behind Fenris, looking deep into his lover’s eyes. Satisfied that Mycroft’s nervousness had faded, he took his lover’s throbbing cock in his hand, lining it up with the wolf God’s entrance.

“He wants _you_ , lover.” He bent his head, his voice a soft, raspy whisper in Mycroft’s ear. “Do you want him?”

“Yes, I do”, he said softly, almost afraid to admit it. The woman from _The Incident_ had humiliated him, making him feel like she was doing him a somewhat repugnant favor every time she’d let him inside her. There was none of that in this experience. The look of desire in Fenris’s eyes was genuine, and very intoxicating.

“Then _take_ what you want, Mycroft.” Greg pulled his hand away from his lover’s cock, watching eagerly as Mycroft pushed the thick head through the tight ring of muscle, slowly sinking himself into Fenris’s body. Mycroft glanced at Greg, then at Fenris, who was looking back at him, eyes half-slit and bright with pleasure. The thought struck him that these two entirely gorgeous men wanted _him_ , and it filled him with a sense of pride and confidence. He grabbed Greg’s head, kissing him as he pumped himself into Fenris’s ass. “Let him use that tongue on you. I want to watch.”

Fenris growled hungrily as Greg moved to position himself at the head of the bed. He’d missed the pleasure of letting another male take him. In all his centuries in Hell, he’d fucked plenty of demons, but he’d never let one mount him. It had been a matter of pride, but he was happy to submit to these two humans. It would be good to feel like part of a pack again. Mycroft’s thick cock plunged deep inside him, and he growled again as he wrapped his tongue around Greg’s cock.

“Christ!”, Greg gasped. “That feels… incredible.” He looked up to see Mycroft watching him with a very wicked and entirely sexy smile on his face. Greg dug his fingers into Fenris’s shoulder, already nearly driven to orgasm. He felt the wolf God’s tongue tightening around the base like a cock ring, preventing him from cumming.

Mycroft’s misgivings and inhibitions had given way entirely to the sheer sensuality of the situation and he held off his orgasm as long as possible. He drank in the sights and sensations with eager eyes; the tight, slick heat of Fenris’s body around his cock, the sight of his beloved squirming with pleasure and watching him with those dark passion-filled eyes, and the growls of ecstasy and trembling limbs that told him his cock was capable of driving a God to orgasm. Finally, senses overwhelmed, he came with a loud cry, emptying himself deep into Fenris’s body. Panting, he fell beside Greg, claiming a deep, passionate kiss. An odd, unexpected sense of affection for Fenris came over him with the completion of their bond, and he reached down, gently running his fingers through the wolf God’s hair.

“I believe it’s your turn.” He gave Greg another wicked smile. “I’d very much like to watch you take him.”

“God, you have no idea how sexy you are when you smile like that.” Greg kissed him back, pouring his passion into the kiss. Releasing his lover, he took position behind Fenris. He took his cock in his hand, intensely excited by the sight of his lover’s cum oozing from the wolf God’s hole.

Mycroft rose to his knees, watching his lover’s cock slide smoothly into Fenris’s opening, then reclined languidly on the bed. His long fingers entwined in the wolf God’s hair as Fenris began to lick his cock. Watching Greg fuck Fenris was even more arousing than he’d imagined, and he soon found himself getting hard again.

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s bedroom: (23 April, Mid AM)

Mycroft snuggled in under Greg’s arm, entirely sated and utterly contented. The three had made love several more times in a variety of wonderfully wicked positions, spurred on by the talents of Fenris’s tongue. He’d never imagined either he or Greg could get hard so many times in one evening, or so quickly. Mycroft suspected the wolf God had some sexual power, probably gained from centuries of devouring sex demons. He knew he’d be exhausted in the morning, but he didn’t care. It had been worth it, and he had no regrets. He smiled softly, knowing Greg had enjoyed it as much as he had. His lover, who had been so patient and gentle with him, had obviously been very aroused when Mycroft had begun to take charge. He drifted off to sleep, resolving to be more commanding during sex with Greg.

When they were done and all cleaned up, Fenris had changed to wolf form and curled up on the bed beside Greg. Much to Greg’s surprise, Mycroft hadn’t objected. Instead, he’d affectionately ruffled the wolf’s ears and told him he’d left some clothes for him in the chair for when he woke. Greg tightened his arm around his lover and smiled. He’d always suspected that under all his shyness and reticence, Mycroft had a kinky side. Seeing his lover become progressively more dominate throughout the night had been incredibly erotic. As sweetly moving as his initial shyness was when their relationship began had been, Greg enjoyed seeing this confident, kinky side of his lover.

Fenris laid his head on Greg’s hip, enjoying the scent of his pack-mates. It felt so good to finally be part of a pack again after centuries of loneliness, and to sleep beside them. He knew it wouldn’t be an every night thing; they were human, after all, and would need time to enjoy each other without him. Still, he was part of a pack again, and it felt good. He slept for a while, drawing them into the land of dreams through their bond.

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s bedroom: (23 April, early morning)

“Good mornin’, Lover.” Greg tightened his arm around Mycroft. “You still alright?”

“Entirely.” He stretched and rolled over, facing his lover with a smile. “I feel strangely rested for someone who only had a couple of hours of sleep.”

“Yeah, me too… I had the weirdest dream, though.”

“So did I. I dreamt we were wolves, you and I.”

“I had the same dream. It felt so real… We were running through a forest, just for the fun of it, and it was just you and me, but I could hear the rest of the pack was near, runnin’ with us…”

“And we crossed a stream, into a sunlit meadow…” Mycroft sat up and looked around the room. There was no sign of Fenris, and the track suit he’d left in the chair for him was gone.

“You caught a mouse for me.” Greg chuckled.

“And you ate it.”

“To be fair, it was delicious.”

“And then we curled up together in the sun and fell asleep. Perhaps that’s why we feel so rested.” Mycroft smiled. “A gift from our new friend, I’d imagine.”

“I got a gift for you too.” He grinned, sliding closer to his lover, pressing his body against Mycroft’s. He felt his hardness, matching his own and his smile widened. “And I see you got one for me too.”

\---

Mycroft’s Study: (23 April, early morning)

“Uncle Greg said you wanted to talk to me about something?” Tim stuck his head in the door, trying not to look guilty even though he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Yes. Please have a seat.” Mycroft sighed softly, noting Tim’s nervousness. For some reason, the boy didn’t seem to be able to look him in the eye. “You’re not in trouble, Tim.”

“Um, okay.” He sat in the chair near the desk, sitting up very straight. Mycroft definitely seemed to be the type of man who cared about things like posture. He tried very hard to look him in the eyes, but found he couldn’t.

“How did the shopping trip go? Did my assistant make sure you have everything you need for school?”

“Yes, Sir… um… Uncle Mycroft. Thank you. You’ve been really generous, and I really appreciate it. I’ve never had clothes like that before.” Tim had been a little overwhelmed by the shopping trip. His father had never been one to spend a lot of money on his children, and his old clothes had been a mixture of mark-downs and hand-me-downs from his older brother. There was absolutely nothing in his new wardroom that wasn’t a designer label, including his school uniforms, and some of it had even been tailored. “And thanks for the computer, and all the other stuff. I know it must have cost a lot.”

“Think nothing of it. Let us know if there’s anything else you discover you need once you get to school. I do want you to be comfortable there.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“Good. Now that’s settled… What has Greg told you about magic?”

“Well, I know about the fairies, of course. He said there were other magical creatures, but he didn’t tell me about them yet…” His voice trailed off, and he was blushing. “I know about you. I… I wasn’t spying, I promise! It’s just… I was in my room, looking out the window and I saw you with that lady in the garden…”

“I see.” Silently cursing himself for his carelessness, he deliberately softened his tone. “I’m not angry, Tim. What did you see?”

“You blew up a teacup with lightening. Are you a… a wizard?”

“I prefer the term sorcerer, but yes, I am. Does that frighten you?”

“No, Sir. I think it’s really cool. Do you think I could learn to do that one day?”

“Perhaps, if you have the gift. It seems that not everyone can wield magic. Tim, you do understand that you can’t tell anyone about any of this, no matter how tempted you may be to do so. I can’t stress enough how very important it is that you don’t say a word to anyone, no matter what.”

“Yes, Sir, Uncle Mycroft. Uncle Greg made me promise.”

“Good. I’m about to tell you about some things you may find alarming. In addition to fairies, there are a number of other magical creatures, some of which are quite dangerous, and they’re becoming much more common as time passes. It’s only a matter of time until it becomes common knowledge. Your uncle and I, along with some other gifted individuals, are doing what we can to see that _when_ that happens, we will be able to assist, for example, Scotland Yard, in dealing with the situation.”

“I thought it might be something like that, what with you being with the government, and Uncle Greg being with the Yard. Does he have some sort of special power too?”

“Greg is a medium.”

“So, he can call up ghosts and stuff?”

“Something like that, yes. Have you met our new houseguest yet?”

“Fenris? Yes Sir, he was with the fairies when I went out to tend them. Is he magic, too?”

“Yes. What makes you ask? Did he say anything… strange?” Mycroft noted that the boy seemed to be incapable of looking him in the eye this morning.

“He talked kinda weird. He said he was part of your pack now, and that I was a fine pup. He was nice, though…” Tim blushed deeper, his cheeks and ears turning bright red. “And his eyes are really strange. Is he blind in one eye or something?”

“No…” Mycroft sighed softly. He had a sudden terrible suspicion as to why Tim was blushing so fiercely. “What _did_ he say, exactly.”

“Um… That you and Uncle Greg um… and him…” Tim looked down as if he suddenly found the pattern on the carpet very interesting. “That you guys mated with him so he’d be oath-bonded with you and so now he’s part of our pack.” He’d said that all very quickly, as if it were all one word.

“Damn.” Mycroft muttered softly, momentarily at a loss for words. “Tim, I… It’s very complicated. Fenris isn’t… human.”

“I sorta thought he might not be.” Tim glanced up, surprised to see Mycroft was blushing as well. “Is he like a werewolf or something?”

“Not exactly… Tim, about what he said; I feel some need to explain…”

“I know it’s none of my business, what you guys do or whatever.” Tim spoke very quietly, then forced himself to look up. “It’s… You and Uncle Greg; you’ve both been very good to me. I don’t think it’s wrong or anything, you guys and him.”

“Neither do I, but it is a private matter. Fenris… isn’t from here, and he doesn’t understand that what he said wasn’t… appropriate.”

“Where’s he from?”

“Asgard, originally.”

“Like in the movies, like Thor and stuff?”

“Something like that, yes. He’s…the Wolf God.”

“Is he the one from the stories, then?”

“Yes. Despite his appearance, he’s very old and very powerful. I summoned him somewhat accidentally”, he admitted reluctantly, “…and he was of great assistance in helping us end a rather unpleasant situation. However, now that he _is_ here, he can’t be sent back. Nor would I want to, unless he gave me very good reason. Since I am the one summoned him, he’s my responsibility. Part of that obligation included establishing an oath-bond with him to gain his loyalty. I don’t want you to think that Greg and I… we’re not libertines.”

“I…. I don’t know what that means, Uncle Mycroft.”

“It’s not the sort of behavior we generally engage in. There are special circumstance regarding Fenris and what was required to establish the oath-bond.”

“Oh. Um, what kinda powers does he have? Does he turn into a wolf?”

“Yes, so if you see a large grey wolf about the place, don’t be afraid.”

“Okay.”

“Do you have any other questions?”

“No, Sir.” It seemed the safest response. Tim actually had a great number of questions, most of which, he decided, he didn’t really want answered. He fled the room as soon as politeness allowed, just hoping he could get through breakfast without embarrassing himself.

\---

Mycroft’s study: (23 April, morning)

“You not goin’ in today?”

“I’ve got some things to do here, but I’ll be going in this afternoon. Do you want to meet for lunch?”

“Yeah, assumin’ I’m not out on a case. Gimme a call when you’re ready and I’ll meet you if I’m free.”

“Greg, before you go, there’s something I should tell you. It’s about my talk with Tim this morning.”

“Did something go wrong? He was actin’ kinda weird at breakfast, but I thought it was just seeing Fenris change to wolf form…” The wolf God preferred to eat in wolf form, which Greg thought was just as well. He really didn’t relish the idea of trying to eat an omelet while Fenris ate a bowl of raw meat at the table.

“No. It seems that while Fenris didn’t reveal his magical nature until I had a chance to talk to the boy, as we requested, there was one little detail that we failed to ask him not to mention.”

“No.” Greg went a bit pale, instantly knowing what Mycroft meant by the pained expression on his face.

“I’m afraid so. Thankfully, he didn’t go into detail, but…” Mycroft sighed wearily. “He told him that he mated with us.”

“Christ, no wonder the kid was lookin’ at me like I had two heads or something.”

“I tried to explain as delicately as possible that it was because we needed to establish an oath-bond, but I thought you might want to have a word with the boy.”

“Yeah, I think I better.” Greg sighed heavily. “I better call work and let ‘em know I’ll be runnin’ a little late.” He leaned over the desk, kissed Mycroft goodbye, and headed off to find his nephew.

\---

Author’s notes: Succubi is the pleural form of succubus, a female sex demon known in legend to appear to men and have sex with them in their sleep, draining their vitality in the process.


	16. Everything is a Part of What is Woven

Tim’s bedroom: (23 April, morning)

“Tim? You in there?” Greg knocked on the door, feeling more than a little apprehensive. He had no idea what he was going to say. He was dreading the conversation, but Tim had looked very uncomfortable at breakfast and he didn’t want to leave things like that. The boy had enough to worry about, with him starting a new school in just a few days.

“Come in, Uncle Greg.” Tim turned from computer where he’d been researching Westminster, trying to get an idea what life there would be like. He’d been puzzled by the statement that there was a three year waiting list. Obviously his Uncle Mycroft had used his influence to get him in. He was beginning to suspect he was a good deal more important in the government than he’d been told.

“So…” Greg glanced at the screen, looking for a safe subject to begin the conversation. “You excited about startin’ school Monday?”

“I’m really kinda scared. I’m afraid I won’t fit in, or won’t get good enough grades… I know it’s really expensive and Uncle Mycroft must have pulled some strings to get me in. I just don’t wanna disappoint you guys.” Tim looked down, staring at his trainers and trying very hard not to wonder about his Uncle’s sex life.

“Tim, I know you’ll do your best. If it doesn’t work out, we’ll put you in another school. I want you to give it a chance, but if it’s not the right fit for you, I promise we won’t be disappointed.”

“You won’t?”

“Nah. It’s a great opportunity for you, but I get what you mean by worryin’ about fitting in. As long as you do your best, I won’t be disappointed. I’m kinda more worried that you might be disappointed in me.”

“In you?” Tim glanced up, blushing a bright red. “Oh. I guess Uncle Mycroft told you what Fenris said.”

“Yeah.” Greg sighed softly as the boy went back to staring at his shoes. “You got questions, don’t you?”

“It’s… I know it’s none of my business, what you guys do, and I don’t think… It’s not like it’s wrong or anything…”

“But?”

“I know you and Uncle Mycroft are getting married, so is Fenris… He said you were pack-mates. Is he like you guys’ boyfriend?”

“It’s… more complicated than that. He’s not human, and he doesn’t think the same way we do. It’s kinda… a magic thing.”

“Uncle Mycroft said something about an oath-bond.”

“Yeah. When we… did what we did, it was Fenris’s way of showin’ he acknowledged Mycroft as the leader of the pack, and it made a magical bond between the three of us. I know it seems… different, but Gods have different ways of doin’ things. It’s not the kinda thing we normally do, if that’s what you’re wonderin’ about.”

“Oh, um… okay.”

“You still got questions?”

“I… It’s not the sort of thing I should ask.”

“I’ll make you a deal. You ask, and if I think it’s none of your business, I’ll tell you. I got some things I’d like to ask you too, and I’ll give you the same deal there, okay? If you don’t wanna tell me, you don’t have to.”

“Okay. Like what?”

“You ever had sex, Tim?”

“No. I’ve never even kissed another boy. Not many people at school were out. There was this one boy I liked a whole lot, but I was too scared to say anything. I kinda… I don’t think he’s gay. Um… You’re bi, right?”

“Kinda. What I’m really attracted to is intelligence. Gender isn’t on the top of on my list of what I’ve always looked for in a person. There’s a lotta reasons why I love Mycroft, but that’s what attracted me to him in the first place. He’s probably the smartest guy you’ll ever meet. How did your dad find out you were gay?”

“I told him.”

“You did? Damn, that was really brave. I’m proud of you.”

“I just got angry. We were watching the telly one night, and there was this story on the news about how many gay kids commit suicide, and you know how he is; the stuff he says about being gay. There was this woman, telling this story about her son and how he was bullied for it at school and killed himself. Dad was laughing about it, and saying she should be glad he’s dead. I just couldn’t stand it anymore, so I said _I guess you wish I was dead, then_. I’ve never seen him so mad. I think if Andy hadn’t been there, he’d have beat me up, or worse. I’m lucky he just kicked me out.”

“Tim, I know he’s your dad and I probably shouldn’t say this, but he’s a fuckin’ bastard.”

“I know. But I’ve got _you_ now. I miss Andy, but I don’t miss Dad at all. I know it’s wrong, but I just kinda… hate him.”

“Look, I get why people say you gotta love somebody because they’re family, but you don’t. He is your dad, so if he ever comes to his senses and realizes what a great kid you are, you should try to forgive him, but if he’s gonna stay a complete prick, you don’t gotta love him.”

“Was it hard for you, with Grandpa?”

“Yeah, at first. He came around though.” Greg sighed. “I think, when I got married, he decided it was just a phase. I still haven’t told him about me and Mycroft, though. I wanna tell him in person, and I haven’t had the time to go down and see him.”

“Do Uncle Mycroft’s parents know? I know you guys went out to dinner with them.”

“Yeah. His mother took it kinda hard at first, but I think she’s okay with it now. His dad seemed fine with it.”

“Uncle Mycroft’s lucky. I’m lucky too though, because I have you. I’d be in a youth home or something if it weren’t for you.”

“Well, that’s somethin’ you never have to worry about. You got me _and_ Mycroft now, and I want you to feel like this is home. I know it’s kinda hard to get used to, but this is _your_ home too now, not just a place to stay.”

“It _is_ pretty posh. It’s kinda like living in a museum, but I’m getting used to it. He still kinda scares me a little, but I like Uncle Mycroft.”

“I think he likes you too. He’s not the kinda guy to show it much, but deep down, he’s got a heart.”

“I know. I can tell how much he loves you, just by the way he looks at you. I hope one day somebody will look at me like you guys look at each other.”

“I’m sure they will. You’re a good-lookin’ kid with a lotta good qualities.”

“Thanks. Um… Uncle Greg, can I ask you something kinda personal?” Tim glanced up, blushing, and went back to staring at his trainers.

“Sure. I might not answer, but I won’t get mad if you ask.”

“With you and Uncle Mycroft… are you, um… which one of you is… um..?”

“Which one’s the top? Is that what you’re tryin’ to ask?” Tim nodded, far too embarrassed to speak or look up. Greg hesitated for a moment, then decided to answer his question honestly. “First of all, it doesn’t matter. Who does what to who in bed isn’t what a relationship’s about. But since you asked, I go both ways.”

“Oh. I… don’t know what I really want. I mean, I think about stuff…” He turned an ever brighter shade of red. “But I guess I won’t know what I really want until I try it.”

“Well, just don’t be in too big a hurry, okay. When you meet the right guy, you’ll find out then. Just try to be sure he’s the right one, because your first time is kinda special. How much do you know about sex?”

“I know the basic stuff. I read some stuff on the internet and um… and I’ve seen some videos… I mean, I know I shouldn’t have, but I just got curious. I don’t think that’s what it’s really like though, on the videos.”

“If you mean porn, then you’re right. Look, I gotta get to work, but I promise you, when I get the time, me and you will sit down and have a nice, open, honest discussion about sex, okay?”

“Okay. I mean, Dad had _the talk_ with me, but it was just a lot of junk about how to get girls to do it and stuff.”

“Yeah, I can imagine. We good now?”

“Yeah, thanks. And Uncle Greg… I love you.”

“I love you too, Tim.”

\---

Sherlock and John’s room: (23 April, morning)

Sherlock woke suddenly, bolting out of bed and out of the room, pulling on his dressing gown as he ran down the stairs. John startled awake at the sudden movement, staring with alarm. He could hear Mrs. Hudson screaming as he hastily threw on his trousers. Heart pounding, he raced down the stairs.

“Mrs. Hudson! You’re safe now. Kat, do see if you can calm her down.” Sherlock knelt beside the unconscious body of a muscular, heavily tattooed young man, checking his pulse while a very furious fairy flitted around him. “Your ex, I presume?”

“What the hell… Are the girls okay?” John could hear them crying in the background. He pushed past Kat, rushing to check on them.

“He didn’t get past the door. I’m sorry, John. I didn’t think he’d find me here.”

“Mrs. Hudson, go upstairs and get the handcuffs. You know where I keep them.” The man was unlikely to wake soon, given the size of the stinger Steven was currently displaying and the number of welts on his body, but giving her something to do would calm her down.

John found Mary standing over the girls, trying to comfort them as best she could without touching them. He scooped his daughter into his arms, soothing her as Kat stepped over and picked up Abby.

“What happened?”

“The little blue guy saved us.” Kat glanced back at him. “Is that a _fairy?”_

“Yes. His name’s Steven, and he belongs to Sherlock.”

“Is he dead?” Kat stepped closer, looking down at her ex with angry, hate-filled eyes. “I almost hope he is, the bastard.”

“Merely unconscious, though he may be permanently deranged when he wakes. Fairy venom can be potent when they’re angry.” Sherlock reached out, coaxing Steven to land on his hand. “Calm yourself. You’ve done well, and the children are safe.”

“Here’s the handcuffs…” Mrs. Hudson held them out, staring uncomprehendingly at Steven. “What… what is that?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll explain once our current problem is dealt with.” He tucked Steven behind his ear and took the cuffs from her.

“Well, whatever it is, it saved us. I went out to put some rubbish in the bins, and he just grabbed me and forced his way in.” She rubbed her wrist, which was slightly bruised where he’d grabbed her.

“Are you injured?” Sherlock rolled the man over and cuffed his hands behind his back.

“I’m fine, dear. It’s just a little bruise. Shall I ring up Scotland Yard?”

“No. I have a better idea. John, go and get my mobile.”

John looked at his daughter, who had ceased crying and was now looking at him with wide blue eyes. She gave a little hiccup and he patted her back, soothing her as he laid in her crib.

“We’ll watch over her.” Kat glanced at Mary and laid Abby beside Rosie.

“Who are you calling? Mycroft?” John stepped over the unconscious man, resisting the strong urge to kick him in the face.

“Yes. Go get the mobile. And grab a biscuit for Steven. He’s earned it.”

“He would have hurt us, if it wasn’t for Steven.” Kat said softly. “Aunt Martha, would you get the girl’s breakfast ready? I think they’re probably hungry.” Like Sherlock, Kat know her aunt was happiest if she had something to do.

“Of course, dear. You just stay there and keep them calm.”

“Here.” John rushed back down the stairs, handing Sherlock the mobile and holding out the biscuit. Steven fluttered up, stinger gone, and settled on John’s hand, nibbling hungrily at the treat. “Thank you Steven,” John said gratefully. Any misgivings he’d had left about having a fairy in the house were completely gone.

“Steven protect hive”, he said proudly.

“He really did save us.” Kat shivered, obviously fighting back tears. “Malcom threatened to hurt Abby if I didn’t come with him.” She sobbed softly, rubbing at her eyes. “He didn’t even know which one she was.”

“It was awful, John. I couldn’t do _anything_. I tried touching him, but it wasn’t enough. I think he was high on something.” Mary glared furiously at the man who’d threatened her child. “I swear, if it wouldn’t cause trouble getting rid of the body, I’d drain him right to death.”

“Mycroft, we have a situation. Steven has stung an intruder who was threatening our child.” Despite the situation, John couldn’t help smiling a bit at hearing Sherlock referring to Rosie as _our child_. “I’ll ask. Steven, will he be mad when he wakes?”

“Delirium is fairy friend.”

“Yes. Can you arrange things? Considering Steven’s part in things, I think it best we not involve Scotland Yard in this.” Sherlock paced restlessly, listening to Mycroft’s response. Like John, he was struggling with the urge to kick the unconscious man. “I suppose that will do, though I’d really rather you just fed him to Fenris. As soon a possible, if you please. Otherwise, his condition is likely to worsen dramatically.” He hung up the mobile, glaring at the man for a moment.

“What’s he going to do with him?” John handed Steven back to Sherlock and stepped over the man, back to his child.

“He’ll be placed in a secure facility for the criminally insane. He won’t be seeing the light of day for a very long time, if ever. Steven, does the madness caused by your venom ever wear off?”

“Delirium decides.” Steven looked up from the nearly finished biscuit. “Steven could fix but won’t.”

“Delirium. Is that the name of a Power?”

“One of Endless. Friend of Fae.”

“Interesting.” He placed Steven behind his ear and bent down, dragging the man inside in case any unexpected visitors stopped by. The man’s head made a somewhat satisfying thump against the hardwood floor when he dropped him.

“Sherlock, dear, will you please tell me what this is all about?” Mrs. Hudson handed John the tray with the girls’ breakfast and looked up at Sherlock, staring curiously at Steven. “How is he… possible?”

“Magic. Have a seat, and I’ll try to explain.”

\---

Mycroft’s office: (23 April, mid-morning)

“Thank you, Anthea. Make sure he’s secured, and I’ll see you after lunch. There’s a matter I’d like to discuss with you.” Mycroft had decided it was time to inform her about his plans and see whose side she was really on. She’d seen the CCTV tapes, but from what he could ascertain, she’d kept his secret as instructed. Anthea had outlasted any other assistant he’d ever had and he hoped if he was forced to leave the council, she’d come with him. She’d proven very dependable over the years, and could prove very useful in the new agency.

“Sir, you wanted to see me?” His driver Alexander stood in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral. His nervousness was betrayed only by the slight twitching of his left index finger, a tell Mycroft had noticed long ago. Alexander had never been called into his boss’s home office, and he figured he was either about to get canned or his boss was about to explain the strange events surrounding the household during the previous few weeks. He hoped it was the latter. He’d seen enough small glimpses into the life of the often difficult and demanding man he worked for to have gained an immense amount of respect for his boss. Unlike others he’d seen in positions of power, he’d never seen Mycroft abuse that power. He was exacting and never hesitant about giving an underling a good dressing down when it was called for, but he’d never taken his personal feelings out on them. It was a rare quality among the powerful. Alexander was a stoic, quiet man who’d come to admire his employer’s sense of duty and professionalism, and he took a great deal of pride in being his driver.

“Alexander, there’s a certain matter that’s come to light that I’d like to speak to you about. Have a seat, please.” Outside of Anthea, Alexander was the only person who’d ever stayed in his service for so long, and he’d no doubt noticed the recent changes. In many ways, he was more privy to Mycroft’s private life than Anthea. He’d either need to be dealt with quickly and quietly, or brought into the new agency. “I must presume you’re not unaware that I’m currently dealing with a rather unique situation.”

“Yes, Sir, I am.” He subtly but visibly relaxed, knowing his boss wouldn’t have mentioned it if he was being let go.

“What do you know of it?”

“I know about the fairies in the back garden, and I… I heard the wolf last night, talking in my head.” His impassive expression hadn’t changed, but his finger began tapping fretfully against his leg again. He’d learned some very unusual things about his boss last night, and he was anxious about the man’s reaction. Mycroft Holmes was an intensely private man, and wouldn’t be pleased, but Alexander decided honesty was his best option. His boss was very difficult to deceive, a thing he’d learned watching others try, generally to their detriment.

“I see.” Mycroft sighed softly, letting a small bit of the distress he felt show. Alexander knew a great deal more than he should, including some very personal information. He pursed his fingers in front of his face, his keen eyes looking for any trace of deception or disgust. “Have you told anyone else of this?”

“No, Sir. My job’s to drive, insure your safety and keep my mouth shut.”

“And to inform on me should you think I’m acting erratically or if you feel you have reason to question my loyalty.”

“I work for _you_ , Sir. If I may be frank?”

“Please do.”

“In all the years I’ve worked for you, I’ve never once questioned your sincerity in safe-guarding this nation and its people. You’re the most dedicated, professional man I’ve ever had to privilege to work for. I have some insight into the sacrifices you’ve made for us all over the years, and I know without doubt that whatever’s going on, I feel safer knowing you’re on top of things.” He realized, a bit too late, the double entendre in what he’d said considering the things he’d heard the wolf say. “You’re a good man, Sir. All this magic… demons and fairies and Gods; I don’t know of any man I’d trust more to be able to handle the situation.”

“And you don’t have any… difficulties with what you overheard? Any questions?”

“No, Sir. None of that is any of my business, beyond any additional security concerns you think I should be made aware of. All of this magic stuff is way over my head, what with Gods and demons and such, and as for anything else, it would be unprofessional of me to comment on your private life.”

“Indulge me. Be unprofessional for a moment. I’d like to know your personal opinion.”

“I… You seem happy, Sir; you and the Inspector, and I’m glad to see it. You deserve a little happiness, and he seems like a good man.”

“You’re not shocked by what you heard?”

“Sir, I don’t really understand all this sorcerer and oath-bonding stuff, but as for the rest of it…”, he shrugged. “As long as you’re happy and not hurting anyone, I don’t see how it should matter.”

“I appreciate your candor.” Mycroft sat quietly for a moment, considering what he knew of the man and the subtle clues to his emotional state during their interview.

“Alexander, if I were to offer you a private position, would you be willing to leave the service?”

“Without hesitation, Sir.”

“Then prepare your letter of resignation. I’ll let you know when to submit it.”

“Gladly, sir.” A hint of a smile cracked Alexander’s stoic façade as he stood and left the room.

\---

221B Baker Street: (23 April, late morning)

“I think Mrs. Hudson took things surprisingly well, all things considered.” John glanced over at Sherlock, who had been on the computer since Mycroft’s men had left. His only reply was a vaguely noncommittal noise that told John his lover was aware he’d spoken but wasn’t really listening. John snorted softly. “I think we should make a sex video and put it online.” As he expected, he got the same response. He sat there for a moment, trying to decide if he should be irritated or amused. “I’m replacing your wardrobe with plaid button-downs and Christmas jumpers.”

“Yes, yes, fine, John.”

“You haven’t heard a single word I’ve said.” John sighed and stepped over to the desk, laying a hand of Sherlock’s shoulder. He peered over at the screen, which displayed a forum discussion about psychic abilities. “Anything useful?”

“Unfortunately not. There are a couple of people who, if they’re truthful in their claims, may merit investigation, but nothing pertinent to my situation.” He snorted dismissively, closing the laptop. “I’m going to talk to Fenris. He called me a seer. I want to know exactly what he meant. Do you want to come with?”

“I think I should stay here. I want to spend some time with Rosie, and Kat said she had some shopping to do.” He leaned down to give Sherlock a kiss. “This morning when you bolted out of bed, did you _see_ something?”

“Yes, though I don’t know if it was due to some ability I might have, or my connection with Steven. It could have been either.” His brow furrowed and he frowned unhappily. “I need to understand this power, or it’s worse than useless.”

“Worse how?”

“Because how can I sort out seeing from delusion? I’ve explained that already. There’s no certainty in it, and that just won’t do. I can’t function that way, John. I need to _know_.”

\---

Mycroft’s back garden: (23 April, early afternoon)

“You’re Uncle Mycroft’s brother Sherlock, right?”

“Yes.” A small smile curled at the corner of his lips. He was amused at the idea of his brother having a teen-ager around the house. “You must be Greg’s nephew, Tim.”

“Yes, sir.” Tim tried not to stare. The man was too old for him and in a relationship with someone else, but Tim couldn’t help noticing how gorgeous he was.

Fenris came bounding from the garden, tennis ball clutched in his mouth, hackles raised at the sight of an intruder. Recognizing Sherlock as Mycroft’s seer, he shook himself, smoothing his fur and dropping the ball at Tim’s feet.

 _“Greetings, Seer.”_   He dropped to the ground beside Tim, tongue lolling from his mouth. _“I like this game, Tim.”_

“Fenris, there’s something I’d like to ask you about.”

 _“Let’s go to the kitchen. I want beer.”_ Fenris rose and stretched, padding towards the back door. _“We’ll play more later, Tim.”_ Sherlock watched him change back to human, comparing it to Thomas and Liam’s transformations. The vampire turned briefly into mist between forms, while Liam seemed to flicker between states for a few seconds. Fenris just seemed to change from wolf to tracksuit-clad human instantaneously. Sherlock followed him into the kitchen, refusing his offer of a beer as he leaned against the bar.

“I want to know what you mean when you call me a Seer.”

“You can see things others can’t.” It seemed a very silly question to Fenris.

“Yes, I know _that_. What sort of things?”

“What was, what is, what must happen. That is a dangerous thing to do, though. I don’t think it’s good to look at what must happen.”

“Do you mean the future, when you say what must happen?”

“In a way. The future is what _might_ happen. I think when you look at it on purpose, you change it to what _must_ happen. That is what happened to me. Odin saw that I would eat him so he betrayed me and chained me up, but I wouldn’t have eaten him if he hadn’t done that to me. I’m loyal to my pack when my pack is loyal to me. I think looking at the future changes it from what might happen to what must happen.” He downed his beer and grabbed another one from the refrigerator.

“In essence, you believe it reverses the laws of cause and effect.”

“Yes. When you see the effect you become the cause. It makes things backwards.

“It becomes a self-fulfilling prophesy. Do you know this for a fact or are you basing it on your own experience?”

“I’m not a seer, but it seems true to me.” He leaned forward, looking into Sherlock’s eyes. “You have beautiful eyes for a human. It looks like you ate a rainbow. Seers often have eyes like that, unless they are blind.”

“Your own eyes are quite unusual. Is that due to your devouring Asgard’s sun and moon?”

“Yes. I was very angry.”

“Do they give you special abilities?” While it was off topic, it seemed a good thing to know.

“I can burn things with my right eye but I don’t like fire very much. I’m part frost giant, so I like ice better. My left eye can pull the sea in or push it away, but that is a hard thing to do. It lets me share dreams with my pack mates and I can control those who are tied to the moon.”

“Like werewolves?”

“I could do that anyway. It is my duty because I am their God.”

“What other abilities does a seer have?”

“Seers can look inside souls. It is a part of seeing what is. I can do this in some ways.”

“What sort of things can you see?”

“When someone wants sex with me, I can see what they like. I think it’s because I ate a lot of succubi when I was in Hell, and absorbed some of their power. They were always trying to breed with me, but hell has enough hounds. I can smell power in a person and tell what kind of power they have. You smell like a Seer. Mycroft smells like strong magic. Greg smells like ghosts. Things like that.” He finished his second beer and grabbed a third, looking speculatively into the refrigerator. “Can you tell Mycroft to get more beer? I don’t have that thing you send runes on.”

“You mean a mobile? I’ll let him know. When you say I smell like a Seer, do you mean that literally?”

“There are two ways of smelling, with your nose or your mind. I can smell magic with both. My nose smells you have magic and my mind smells you are a Seer. I can smell with my nose when someone wants sex, but I can tell what kind of sex they like with my mind.”

“How do you know what you sense with your mind is real? How do you know you’re not just imagining it?”

“Because I can smell it.” He looked at Sherlock, wondering if the human might be a bit slow-witted. “Don’t you know when something you smell with your nose is real? There’s no difference. Even when it’s with my nose, my mind is how I know what it is.”

“How do you know? When you come across a new scent, something you’re completely unfamiliar with, don’t you have to track and identify it before you know what it is?”

“If it’s a thing I smell with my nose I do. But if it’s with my mind, I just know. I think if I didn’t know, I couldn’t smell it in the first place.”

“That makes a certain sense, but it doesn’t answer my question. How do I know the things I sense are real?”

“I can’t tell you. I just know or I don’t. Your mind is human so it doesn’t work like mine. I never smell things that aren’t there. You should find another God to teach you that. Would you like to have sex instead?” He cocked his head, breathing in deeply. It was much harder catching a scent in human form.

“Thank you, no. Who would you suggest to teach me?”

“My father Loki could teach you. Mycroft might know how to summon him but you would have to ask him that.”

“I’ve been given the impression that getting his attention might be… unwise.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. He’s not like most other Gods. It is a hard thing to explain to a human.” He sighed, trying to find the right words to explain. The humans here seemed to lack the most basic knowledge of how existence worked. “Everything is a part of what is woven, even the Nornir.”

“The Nornir?”

“The ones who weave all that exists”, he said patiently.

“The Fates?”

“Yes, they are sometimes called that. Even they are part of what they weave. Without beings like my father, what they weave now would never change because the fates are _part_ of the pattern. They would keep weaving the same pattern and everything would stay the same. There are a few beings that are both part of the pattern and outside of it. _They_ are the ones that change the threads of fate so that what is can become what might be. My father is one of those beings. Sometimes he is outside the pattern, and then he can change it.”

“If I understand, you’re talking about entropy.”

“I think that word is right. Without beings like my father, Destiny can’t exist. Time can’t exist. Nothing would ever change. Nothing could die or be born. Even the Gods can only see a little bit of the pattern, so when someone like my father changes it, they say he is good or he is evil. That is because they measure it by whether it is good or bad for them. If they could see the whole pattern they wouldn’t say that, but even my father can’t see that. Only the One Above All can see that.”

“Lucifer’s father.”

“Yes. Lucifer is the _first_ one who changed the pattern. Everything that ever was is because of the One, but everything that could be is because Lucifer changed the pattern. Humans say he is evil but he is just Lucifer. My father is the same way.”

“I believe I understand. Without some outside force affecting the pattern, the universe would become static and unchanging. Time itself would stop.”

“That is right. Before Lucifer, there was no Time. That was his purpose. It is why he is called the Light-bringer. Without Time, there can’t even be light. Humans think Lucifer is evil because he rebelled but that was his purpose. My father was like that too. I haven’t seen him since Ragnarok so I don’t know if his purpose is still changing the pattern or not, but he’s not evil. Do you understand the things I have told you?”

“Yes. I have one more question about being a Seer. There are things that I just _seem_ to know, but there have been times when I’ve felt a physical sensation, like a sort of pressure in my mind. It happened with Oberon, and when Lucifer tried to compel me to tell him my greatest desire. Is that part of my power as a seer, or is it some separate ability?”

“I don’t know for sure but I think it’s because you have a strong mind. You may be able to harness that strength to become a better Seer, but not all Seers have strong minds and not everyone with a strong mind is a Seer.”

“Thank you, Fenris. You’ve been most informative.”

“Okay. Don’t forget to send runes to tell Mycroft or Greg that we need more beer. Or mead if they can find it. Beer is good but mead is better. And I like the brown beer better than the yellow one.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him.”

\---

Mycroft’s office: (23 April, early afternoon)

SH: Your new pet says you need to buy him some mead.

MH: Was he useful?

SH: Most instructive, though I presume you and Greg found him more so.

MH: Quite.

Mycroft hesitated for a moment, then smiled smugly and pressed the send button. Showing he wasn’t ashamed of what he’d done last night would probably prevent his little brother indulging in any further teasing about it.

“You wanted to see me, Sir?” Anthea stepped into his office, closing the door behind her.

“Yes. I presume you’ve seen the footage I had you destroy?”

“Yes.” She looked at him curiously. “If I may… What happened?”

“Do you believe in magic, Anthea?”

“I’m beginning to. I suppose it could have been faked, but I don’t see why you’d go through the effort just to have me destroy the tapes.”

“Then what do you think happened?” He looked at her curiously, noting the odd look on her face.

“I think you’re a sorcerer.”

“That seems an odd conclusion to make based on a few minutes of CCTV footage. It sounds… absurd.”

“Yes, it does.” She smiled at him. “Almost as absurd as the idea of you feeding Inspector Lestrade a mouse.”

“What makes you say that?” He looked at her sharply, shock playing across his face for just an instant.

“The Lord of Dreams told me. He said I’d have a meeting with a sorcerer today who fed his lover a mouse in a dream.”

“What else did he tell you?”

“That you’d make me an offer that I should accept. He told me that he wanted me to be his intermediary between here and the Dream world, and that telling you about the mouse was my way of proving my story is true.”

“I see. What does being his emissary entail?”

“I’m not entirely sure. Apparently magic is a relatively new thing here on earth, and there’s some possibility of creatures from the dream world manifesting here or people harnessing the power of dreams for evil purposes. He wants someone on the ground to deal with that sort of thing, and he said I should work with you.”

“Then prepare your resignation, in case it’s needed. I’m organizing a… task force to deal with the problems magic will present, and I’m not entirely sure how the others will react. While I prefer to work _with_ them, this is a far more pressing security matter, and I’m prepared to resign should they prove a hinderance instead of a help.”

“Very good, Sir.” She rose with a cat-like smile. It felt a bit good, surprising him for once.

\---

Crime Scene, outside: (23 April, mid-afternoon)

“I _know_ who did it. What I need is for you to get down here and _prove_ it. The kid’s standin’ right here sayin’ her Mum did it, but she’s got an alibi, and three people backing her story up.” Greg ground his teeth in frustration. Cases involving children were always rough, but this was hard to handle, even for him. “And tell John to get Mary down here. I could use her help.” Greg hung up the mobile, resisting the urge to kick the nearest object.

“Why did Mummy try to hurt me?” The ghost of a small girl reached up, taking Greg’s hand and looking at him with large brown eyes. Drops of water streamed from her clothes and hair, disappearing as they hit the pavement.

“I don’t know sweetheart, but it’s all over now. She’ll never be able to hurt you again.” The toughened Inspector found himself blinking back tears. How could he explain to this innocent child that she was dead because her own Mother had drowned her in the bath? He leaned against the wall behind the skip and sat down on the pavement, watching as the gurney rolled out to the ambulance. His hands were shaking as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and his lighter.

“Are the child protection people going to take me away now?” She leaned against him, clinging to his arm. “Mummy says they’re all bad people but she lies a lot. I don’t think she loves me. She’s always saying I’m bad. Sometimes she hurts me, even when I’ve been good.”

“Nobody’s ever gonna hurt you again.”

“You’re nice. What’s _your_ name? My name’s Alice.”

“Greg.”

“Are you a policeman?”

“Yeah.”

“Is Mummy going to jail for hurting me? I don’t want to stay with her, but Dad has a new wife and he doesn’t want me. Mummy says _nobody_ wants me. Who will take care of me if she goes to jail?”

“I will, Alice. Do you see a bright light anywhere?”

“No.”

Greg took another long drag off his cigarette. He knew that as a medium, there should be some way to set her to rest, but he didn’t know how. He’d never felt so helpless in his life.

\---

Crime Scene, outside: (23 April, mid-afternoon)

Her boss was obviously having some sort of mental breakdown. Sally was sure of it now. She’d stood just out of sight beside the skip, listening in on his conversation. She felt like crying. Greg Lestrade was one of the finest men she’d ever had the privilege to work with. A lot of people came and went in their division, burned out by the stress of the job, but Greg had always seemed so solid and reliable. She’d come to depend on his presence. Despite his occasional outbursts of temper, he’d always been there; a comforting presence even on the cases that had left them both shaken to the core by the depth of human evil.

Now he’d finally cracked, and she wondered what to do. She knew she should report him, but she didn’t want to see his career end like that. Sally didn’t know who to turn to. She knew he wasn’t close to his family, and she didn’t know any of his friends, unless she counted Sherlock. Despite all the help he’d given them and his vindication in the Moriarty case, she still didn’t trust him, and she trusted his brother even less. She sighed softly and went back to the crime scene.

\---

Crime scene, outside: (23 April, late-afternoon)

“So you must be Greg.”

“Yeah.” Even without Mary’s description, he’d have known instinctively who the raven-haired young woman was. “You’re _her_ , aren’t you?” He couldn’t bring himself to say her name, not with this small, sad child clinging to his arm.

“Yep, that’s me.” She took a long drag of her cigarette and sank gracefully to the ground beside him. “You’ve got no idea what you’re doing, do you?”

“I wish to God I _did_. Are you here for her? Can she see you?”

“Nope and nope. I didn’t wanna scare her. I _could_ take her but I don’t think you want me to.”

“Why th’ hell not? She needs to move on, doesn’t she?”

“Because the system’s fucked, that’s why.” Death snorted contemptuously, lighting a new cigarette off her old one and flicking the butt across the street. “If I take her right now, she’s not going up, she’s going down.”

“What the fu-” Greg glanced at Alice, biting the word off. “ _Why_? She’s just a kid, for Christ’s sake. What could she possibly have done to deserve that?”

“It’s not about deserving. It never is. It’s about personal feelings of guilt. She’s probably been made to feel unwanted and told she’s bad so often that she believes it.” She sighed in sad resignation. “I’ve seen it happen a lot.”

“Then what do I do? Isn’t there any way around this bloody system of yours? Can’t _you_ do somethin’ to make this right?”

“It’s like, not _my_ system. I just take people from here to there. I don’t have any say in _where_ they go. Believe me, things would be a lot different if I did.”

“Then what the… What do I do? What’s my options here?”

“The only thing _you_ can do is keep her Earth-bound. She’s still in a state of flux, meaning she’s got the free will to save herself if you can convince her she’s good. One of the Archangels could take her directly and skip the whole system, but it’s like, really hard to get in touch with one of them, and even harder to convince them to do the right thing. Raphael is probably your best bet if you go that route. Most of the others are way too tied up in rules and following orders to actually give a fuck about what’s right or wrong.” She paused, thinking. “Amenadiel’s been in L.A. for a while, trying to get Lucifer to go back to Hell, so he _might_ have learned a little sympathy for humans, but I dunno. He’s always had a bit of a stick up his ass about rules. You’d have to ask Lucy about that.”

“What about other realms? Would a Power in one of them be able to take her in?”

“Maybe, if you can find the right realm, but even then, she’s off the free will train once they do. Once she crosses over and takes up residence, her soul’s set and she’ll never get to heaven. There’s some cool places she could end up, but realms are tied to the Power that holds them. Except for Heaven and Hell, they’re not eternal, and she can’t become part of that realm. She’d be a guest, and if that Power falls, she’d still end up Hell. Even ones like me, who are immortal, aren’t eternal.”

“If there’s nothin’ you can do to help, why are you here?”

“Got a client coming up nearby soon, and thought you might want some advice. Besides, I might need you one day, so it doesn’t hurt to start things off on a friendly basis.”

“Thanks. I really am kinda flying blind here, so any advice you can give me would be great.”

“I’m kinda too busy to teach you, but I’ll send one of my helpers. It’ll be a pain being short-staffed for a while, but it’s probably worth it in the long run. But if you run into any other mediums, you’ve got to promise to teach them in return. As long as they’re not, you know, assholes. You’re gonna have enough trouble with amateurs as it is.”

“Sounds fair enough. Thanks.”

“And don’t forget to get her linking object. You’ll need it.”

“Will I know it when I see it?”

“Yeah, it’ll glow. Gotta run now. It’s almost time to pick up my client.”

\---

Crime scene, outside: (23 April, late afternoon)

“Hi, what’s your name? I’m Mary.” Mary knelt beside Greg, trying to hide her sorrow as she smiled at the little girl. She glanced sympathetically at Greg, who obviously found the child’s situation as heart-breaking as she did.

“Alice”, she said shyly, clinging tighter to Greg’s arm.

“Alice, Mary’s a good friend of mine, and she’s a really nice lady. I need to go somewhere, just for a little while, and then I’ll be right back. Will you stay here with her while I do?”

“Do you _promise_ you’ll come back? Dad promised he’d come back, but he never did.”

“I promise, Alice. I’ve just got a few things to do and then I’ll come get you.”

“You have to tell the truth because you’re a policeman, don’t you?”

“That’s right. And I promise you, Mary’s a really nice lady. She won’t hurt you. So will you be a good girl and wait for me here?”

“Okay. Will you be back soon?”

“As soon as I can, sweetheart.” He gave her a hug and rose wearily, heading back into the crime scene. He hoped Sherlock could prove the woman’s guilt. This was one suspect he was going to make sure was punished, even if he had to break the law to do it.

\---

Crime Scene: (23 April, late afternoon)

“And just what proof do you have? We can’t arrest her on _your_ say-so.” Sally glared furiously at Sherlock, convinced he was just humoring Greg’s delusion at the expense of the grieving mother.

“You should arrest them all. They all took part in this crime.” Sherlock snorted contemptuously. “The scene was staged to make it look like an intruder came in after the crime was committed. Just look at the boots he’s wearing.” He gestured at the larger of the three men.

“What about them?”

“The paint scuffs on the soles match the color of the door. He kicked the door in.” He glared into the man’s eyes. “The samples _will_ match, when they’re analyzed. Also, there’s the mother’s shirt. She’s not wearing any perfume, but her t-shirt reeks of men’s cologne; a cheap Polo knock-off. She got it from him…” He pointed to the shorter of the three men. “… and disposed of her own shirt, which was wet from drowning her daughter.” He bent low, studying the faint trace of spots on the dirty linoleum floor. “There are clear signs something wet was carried through here.” He followed the trail into the kitchen, and pulled open the lower cabinets. Behind an assortment of junk and cleaning products was a damp, wadded up shirt. He pointed it out with a triumphant flourish.

Sheila Jones had played the part of grieving mother to the hilt. She knew she’d be suspected, but she’d thought her alibi was air-tight. It had all been so easy. She’d given her daughter a good does of cough syrup; not enough to look suspicious on an autopsy, but enough to make the girl pliable and easy to handle; easy to shove under the water until her faint struggles had ceased. After the police had arrived, she’d sat there sobbing and seemingly inconsolable, all the while thinking of how her lover would finally leave his wife for her and all the insurance money she’d soon be getting.

Then _he_ had shown up and ruined everything. Blind with fury, she wrenched free of the distracted police detectives and hurled herself at Sherlock, screaming with rage. Greg tried to grab her, but she slipped from his grasp. Her foot caught on a bit of loose tile and she fell, her head hitting the doorframe between the lounge and the kitchen with a wet-sounding thud.

“And that would be my client.” Sherlock and Greg watched wide-eyed, as Death strolled past, unseen by the others, and reached down, pulling the woman’s soul from her blank-eyed corpse. “See you around, handsome.” She winked at Greg and dragged her out, disappearing with a satisfied grin. This was one soul she was glad to be escorting to Hell.

\---

221B Baker street: (23 April, early evening)

“What’s the matter? Didn’t you catch the killer?” John looked anxiously at the grim look on his lover’s face.

“In a manner of speaking. She tried to attack me, fell and hit her head, Death showed up and dragged her off…” He waved dismissively and flung himself on the couch, looking unhappily at John. “Mycroft texted me on the way home. My _parents_ have invited themselves to dinner at his house tonight. _We’re_ expected to be there. They’re leaving town tomorrow, and want to meet Rosie.”

“Where’s Mary? She didn’t come back with you?”

“She’s with Greg, helping him with the ghost-child he’s adopted.”

“With the _what?_

“The ghost of the child who was killed.”

“Greg has adopted a ghost-child?” John stared at him is disbelief. “Why didn’t Death take her too?”

“Something about keeping her out of Hell.” He shrugged.

“Let me get this straight. A murderer tried to attack you, ended up dying instead, _Death_ showed up, and Greg has now adopted the ghost of a murdered _child_ to keep her from going to Hell, and after all _that_ , dinner with your parents is what _you_ find upsetting part?”

“Yes…” John was glaring at him angrily. “Not good?”

“ _Very_ not good. _Enormously_ not good. Do you even listen to yourself? Sometimes you really do sound like a heartless, self-absorbed bastard. Are you really more concerned about having dinner with you parents than the fact that innocent children can end up in Hell?”

“John, my being upset about it won’t change things. It’s apparently just how the system works.”

“The system? How in God’s name would a murdered _child_ end up in Hell? What kind of system is that?”

“Guilt. A soul goes to hell when it feels guilt, even if they’re not actually guilty of anything.”

“That may be the single most monstrous thing I’ve ever heard.” John sat down, staggered by the fact that an otherwise innocent child could be doomed to an eternity in Hell. The unfairness of it was overwhelming.

“I _did_ call Lucifer”, said Sherlock, trying to mitigate the damage a bit. “According to what Death told Greg, an Archangel could take her to Heaven. He’s not on good terms with his siblings, but he said he’d see what he could do. Until then, she’s staying with Greg. And Mycroft.”

\---

Scotland Yard, parking garage: (23 April, early evening)

“I need to talk to you.”

“Not now, Donovan. I’m tired and I’m going home.”

“Greg, it’s important.”

“Christ, what now?” He glanced into his car, where Alice sat beside Mary, looking at Sally fearfully. Alice was more than a little afraid of women, and the lady looked upset. A small stuffed bear sat on the seat between them; Alice’s linking object.

“That, for one thing.” Sally gestured at the bear. “I know you took it from the scene. Why? Why on earth would you do that? It’s not like you. I think… maybe you should take a little time off.”

“You think I’ve lost it, don’t you?” He sighed heavily, leaning against the car and resisting the urge to smoke. “I haven’t. I… There’s just some stuff I can’t explain right now.”

“Greg, I heard you, behind the skip today.” She looked at him sympathetically. “I know this line of work gets hard. The strain gets to everybody sometimes. I just think it might be best if you took a little time, maybe talk to someone…”

“I’m not mad. I was right, wasn’t I; about the mother being guilty?”

“That doesn’t… You told _him_ that the _victim_ said her mother did it.”

“There’s a lot going on you don’t know about, Donovan. A whole lot. I know it may seem like I’m acting a bit off, but…” He paused, trying to decide if she could handle the truth. Mycroft’s new agency would take too much of his time soon, and he’d probably have to resign. Sally would likely be promoted to take his place, and he’d need her cooperation. “Look, I’m off this weekend. Come by my place tomorrow, and I’ll explain everything. I’ll text you the time and location. Please, God, tell me you haven’t told anyone else I’m off my rocker.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you”, she said softly. “Not unless I have to. You need help, Greg.”

“Look, I’ll make a deal with you. Come by tomorrow, and if you still think I need help after I’ve explained, then I’ll take some time off and see a therapist on Monday. Deal?”

“Alright, Boss.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, outside: (23 April, early evening)     

 _“Hello Greg.”_ Fenris bounded up from the backyard as Greg pulled up in the driveway, cocking his head curiously as he opened the rear door. _“You have spirits with you.”_

“Yeah, this is Mary, and the little girl’s Alice. Try not to scare her, okay? She’s gonna be staying with us for a while.”

 _“I don’t think she’s afraid of me, Greg.”_ Alice had jumped from the car and headed straight for Fenris, throwing her arms around his neck with a gleeful smile.

“You have a doggie! I always wanted one, but Mummy said no. What’s his name, Greg?”

“Fenris.”

“That’s a funny name. Why can I hear him talking in my head? Can I play with him?”

“Yeah. He’s magic, so that’s why you can hear him. You stay out here with Mary for a little while, and then I’ll show you the house, okay?”

“Okay, Greg.”

“Fenris, keep her out of the back yard so she doesn’t upset the hive. She doesn’t… drain you, when she touches you?”

_“I’m a God, Greg. Mycroft should put a protective spell on the hive. Then they won’t be afraid of her. Are the spirits part of our pack?”_

“Yeah. They’re…” His voice trailed off as Tim came around the corner, stopping dead in his tracks and staring.

“Uncle Greg, are those… ghosts?”

“Yeah. Mary’s an old friend, and Alice…” He stepped closer to his Nephew, keeping his voice low. “I’ll explain later, but go easy on the ghost talk for now. She just… died this morning, and she doesn’t understand what happened to her. How clear can you see them? Do they look solid, or kinda see through?”

“They look solid, but they sorta glow a little, and there’s something else…” He stared at Alice and Fenris. “They don’t have shadows.”

“Huh. Mary, would you mind touching him?” He looked at Tim, explaining. “I think you might be a medium, like me. When a ghost touches somebody, they can drain the heat out of them. I wanna see if you’re immune. It won’t hurt, if you’re not; it’ll just feel a little cold for a sec, but it can be dangerous if they touch you for too long.” He watched as Mary cautiously touched Tim’s arm.

“Nothing. He’s a medium!”

“Good. Tim, help Mary keep Alice busy. I need to go talk to Mycroft.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, lounge: (23 April, early evening)

“You’ve had a rough day.” Mycroft could see the strain, etched into the furrows of his lover’s brow and the sadness reflected in his deep brown eyes. “Sit down and relax, and I’ll bring you a beer… or would you prefer a whisky?”

“Whisky.” He kissed Mycroft of the cheek and settled heavily into the chair. “I got talk to you about something. I kinda got a situation…” He took the glass from Mycroft and explained the circumstances surrounding Alice. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t know what else to do. There’s no way I’m letting an innocent kid got to Hell just because her bitch of a mother convinced her she’s bad.”

“Of course you couldn’t.” Mycroft rose and sat on the arm of Greg’s chair, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. “You’re a good man, Greg. It may pose some difficulties, having her here, but we’ll work something out. I have a spell that should at least allow me to see her…” His eyes widened in surprise as Greg pulled him into his lap. He stiffened briefly, then melted as Greg wrapped his arms around him and kissed him long and lovingly.

“You’re a good man too, and I love you. Oh, Fenris says you should be able to put some kinda protection spell on the fairy hive, so she won’t upset them.”

“Yes. It didn’t occur that I could use it in that manner, but I do have a spell that might suit that purpose admirably.”

“And it seems Tim’s a medium too, so he can help with her when he’s home.”

“I wonder if there’s some genetic component to the talent?”

“Yeah, I kinda wondered that too. Oh, I do have some good news about the medium thing. Death said she’d send me some sorta helper to teach me how to get a handle on things.”

“That is good news. I know it must be frustrating, not being able to use your abilities to their full potential.” Mycroft sighed. “Speaking of frustrating, you might want to get her settled and change into a fresh suit. My parents are coming for dinner.”

\---


	17. Dreams

Mycroft and Greg’s house, washroom: (23 April, early evening)

“He’s here with me, Dad. Calm down. He’s fine, and he’s startin’ back in school on Monday.” Greg rinsed off his razor, wiping the last traces of shaving foam off his face as he talked with his father on his mobile.

“Thank God he’s alright. I don’t know why he didn’t come to me. When I found out what Tony did… He’s lucky I’m so damned old, or I’d be over there kicking his arse right now, I would! What started it? All Andy would tell me is they had some sorta row.”

“Dad, I know you probably don’t wanna hear this, but Tim’s gay, and that’s why Tony kicked him out.”

“Tony should know better. It’s just a phase, like with you.”

“Yeah, about that…” Greg sighed quietly. He’d wanted to wait and tell his father in person, but now not telling felt too much like keeping it secret. “It’s not a phase with Tim, and it wasn’t with me either.”

“Of course it’s a phase! What does a boy that age know about what he really wants?”

“Dad, being gay or bi isn’t a phase, or a choice either. Didn’t you know you liked women when you were sixteen? Did you doubt it one bit?”

“No! Of course I knew I liked women. But that sort of thing; it’s just a phase with some people, like that… emu thing.”

“Like _what?”_ Greg shook his head, perplexed about what his father could possibly be talking about.

“You know, _emu_. Like those kids who go around with the wild hair and all that funny make-up on their eyes.”

“I think you mean _emo_. And yeah, _that_ kinda thing might be a phase, but not _this_ , Dad. Tim’s gay and I’m bi, and you’re just gonna have to accept that.”

“But it _was_ a phase with you. You married a woman, after all.”

“Dad… I’m engaged. To a man.”

“What? But why? Why would you choose to be with a man? Why not find a nice woman to settle down with? Isn’t that what bi means; that you could choose to be with a woman if you wanted to?”

“It’s not that simple. I’m in love, Dad. I love him and he loves me, and that’s that.”

“And you’re planning on _marrying_ him? Why on earth would you do that? Just because they made that sort of thing legal doesn’t mean you should marry him. What if you change your mind again? This could all be some sort of mid-life crisis.”

“Because I love him is why. It’s not a mid-life crisis and I’m not gonna change my mind. He’s a good man, Dad. A really good man.”

“But, Greg, I’m sure there’s a lot of nice women out there. My neighbor’s daughter just got divorced. I could arrange a date. I’m sure you’d like her. She’s _very_ fit.”

“Dad, you know good-and-well love doesn’t work that way. Could you just have decided not to be in love with Mum and married some other woman?”

“No, but… How long has this been going on? How well do you know this man?”

“We just got engaged a few days ago, but I’ve known him for years.”

“What’s his name? What’s he do for a living? You make a good living, with the Yard. How do you know he’s not just after you for your money?”

“His name is Mycroft Holmes, he works for the government, and he’s got a whole lot more money than me. I know he loves me, the same way you know Mum loved you.”

“So he’s rich, at least”, his father grumbled unhappily. “But what about Tim? You should send him down to stay with me. It can’t be good for the boy, being around that kind of lifestyle.”

“What are you even talking about? What lifestyle? Christ, it’s not a lifestyle, Dad. We’re no different from any other couple. We go to work, we come home, have dinner together… What do you think we do, have orgies in the lounge and prance around singing show tunes?”

“He’s _living_ with you?”

“I’m living with _him_. I moved in right before we got engaged.”

“But… Tim should stay with me. He could go right back to his same school. I don’t think he should be… around that sort of influence.”

“He’s starting Westminster on Monday. And as far as influence goes, I think me and Mycroft are a good one. Tim’s gay, Dad, and you gotta get that through your head. Nothing’s gonna change that. Bein’ around us isn’t gonna make him more gay. We’re a good couple in a loving, committed, happy relationship. What could be a better example than that?”

“Westminster? That’s a bit posh, isn’t it? How can you afford that? Is this… Mycroft of yours paying for it?”

“We’re a couple. Yeah, he’s got a lot more money than me, but that’s what couples do; they share expenses. And it’s a great opportunity for Tim. He’s a bright kid, and if he does well there, he’ll have a good start on his future.”

“Yes, but…”

“Look, Dad, I know this is all a lot for you to process, but I gotta go. Mycroft’s parents are coming for dinner, and I gotta get dressed. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, dining room: (23 April, mid-evening)

“Mycroft, was that a wolf running around out front?”

“Of a sort… It’s a bit complicated, Mummy. Why don’t you have a seat? Dinner will be served very shortly.” Mycroft sighed, thinking this was going to be a very long dinner indeed.

“Who… who was that, out there with it? I could have sworn I saw a woman and a child…” Arthur looked over at his son, obviously a little unsure of what he’d seen.

“Oh hush, you. I told you there was no one there.” Melisandre rolled her eyes, shaking her head at Arthur. “You’re just imagining things again.”

“But I saw them, Meli. Or at least, I _think_ I did. They seemed a bit… see through. Were those ghosts, Mycroft? One looked a bit like Mary…”

“Yes, they are ghosts, and that _was_ Mary that you saw.” Mycroft exchanged glances with Sherlock. It was definitely beginning to look like there was a genetic component to the ability to see ghosts. “Not everyone can see them, Mummy. It seems Father has the gift for it.”

“John, isn’t that a bit awkward, having her around now that you and Sherlock are getting married? It’s a very odd situation.” Melisandre frowned, trying to decide if she disapproved or not.

“No, not at all. She’s very happy for us, really.”

“We’re all just one big, happy family, Mother.” Sherlock grinned, enjoying the confused look on his mother’s face.

“That’s good, then, I suppose…” Not quite sure what else to say, Melisandre turned her attention to Rosie. “Is this our little Rosie, then?” Melisandre smiled broadly. “She’s such a beautiful little girl! And who is this young man?” She looked at Tim curiously.

“This is Greg’s nephew, Tim. He’s staying with us now. He’ll be starting Westminster on Monday.”

“Staying with _you?”_ Melisandre looked at Mycroft in surprise. She found the idea of her eldest having a teen-ager around the house very hard to imagine. “You really _have_ changed, Mikey.”

“Yes, Mummy, he’ll be with us on weekends and throughout summer. He is, after all, about to be my nephew as well.” Mycroft truly detested being called Mikey, but he resisted his strong inclination to correct her in the interest of getting this dinner over with a minimum of trouble.

“Speaking of that, have you two set a date yet?”

“We haven’t discussed it yet, but I was thinking… Greg, would the fourteenth of July suit?”

“Yeah”, he grinned, realizing the fourteenth would also mark their three-month anniversary. He’d always suspected that underneath it all, Mycroft had a romantic streak. “That would be just perfect.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, outside: (23 April, mid-evening)

 _“What are you doing here, corpse-eater? I won’t let you take the child. She’s part of my pack now.”_  Growling, Fenris stepped between Alice and the raven perched in the nearby tree, hackles raised and eyes glowing in warning. Greg had made it clear that she was one of the pack now, and he was very protective of the pack’s pups. _“Come any closer to her and I will eat you.”_

 _“I’m not here for the child, O destroyer of Asgard. Death sent me. I’m here to tutor the medium known as Greg.”_ Like Fenris, he spoke telepathically. He shook his wings, smoothing his feathers and trying to look nonchalant. He was woefully over-matched by the Wolf God, and though being eaten wouldn’t kill him, he really didn’t want to be sent back in shame. Besides, he imagined it would be painful.

 _“Just watch yourself. I don’t like your kind.”_ Odin’s ravens, Huginn and Muninn, had tormented him to no end during his time in Asgard, giving Fenris a strong distrust of ravens in general.

“You’re Death’s helper? I’m Mary, Greg’s partner in the ghost-hunting business.”

 _“Yes, my mistress mentioned you. It is good to meet you, Lady Mary. I am Bran._ ” The raven made a little bow, flexing his wings as he did.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” Mary smiled, finding the gesture almost courtly. “But you can just call me Mary. We’re not so formal around here. Well, except maybe Mycroft.”

_“Mycroft?”_

_“He is the leader of our pack and a very mighty sorcerer. He is Greg’s mate, and you will treat him with respect. Or I will eat you_.”

“Fenris, I’m beginning to think you don’t like ravens very much.”

_“Ravens will eat your eyes if they can. They’re very evil birds.”_

_“Evil? If I’d destroyed an entire realm, I don’t think I’d go around calling others evil. Besides, I’ve never eaten an eye in my life… Well, not from a live being, anyway.”_

“Mary, is that a bad bird?” Having lost her fear of Mary, Alice hid behind her and peered up fearfully at Bran.

“No, Alice. I think Fenris just doesn’t like ravens. He’s not going to hurt you.” She turned to Fenris. “Cut if out, you. You’re scaring Alice.”

_“Mary, will you please inform Lord Greg that I am here?”_

“Can you wait a while? He’s having dinner with his future in-laws, and I don’t think we should disturb them.”

_“I will wait. My mistress said I was to stay here until he has learned what he need to know.”_

“Fenris, can we play some more?” Alice tugged at his tail, bored with the conversation.

 _“Yes, Alice._ ” Fenris stretched his front paws out and bent low, his tail high ang wagging. _“Climb on my back and you can ride on me. Hold on tight and we will go very fast.”_

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, outside: (23 April, late evening)

“Well, that could have been worse”, Sherlock admitted as they waved goodbye to their parents. A good deal their attention had been focused on Rosie, and to some extent, Tim, which had been a great relief to both the brothers.

“Indeed. Your daughter proved a very good distraction for them. Speaking of which, I think it’s time I met Alice.” Mycroft reached into his pocket, pulling out a small piece of Jade. _“Shiptu inu peta amaru shi.”_

“A spell to see ghosts?”

“Obviously, little brother.” He peered across the yard, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when he spotted the two ghosts. Although he hadn’t shown it, he’d found the idea of unseen entities roaming about his home more than a little unnerving.

Fenris raced over to them as soon at the car cleared the gate, a small, damp child clinging to his back and laughing with glee. Mary followed along behind them with a large raven perched on her shoulder.

“What on earth?” John stared at the bird in wonder. “That _can’t_ be a normal raven.”

“It’s… from Death.” Sherlock could feel a mild pressure in his mind, along with the intuitive knowledge of what the raven was. He frowned slightly, still uneasy about being a Seer. He glanced over at Greg. “Your tutor, I presume.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” He shrugged. Greg hadn’t expected his tutor to be a raven, but it seemed appropriate.

_“Don’t worry, Greg. I told him that if he tried to take Alice I would eat him.”_

“Fenris doesn’t like ravens, but Mary said he’s nice”, Alice added helpfully, then looked up at the others shyly. She clambered off of Fenris’s back and ran to Greg, throwing her arms around his legs and peering up shyly at the strangers.

“Alice, this is Mycroft, my friends Sherlock and John, and their daughter Rosie.” Greg bent down, lifting the little girl into his arms. “Have you been having fun with Fenris and Mary?”

“Can you see her, John?” Mycroft looked at him curiously as Alice recounted her adventures with Fenris to Greg.

“No, Mary’s the only ghost I can see.”

“I’d like to try a spell to remedy that, if I may?” John nodded his assent, and he drew another piece of jade from his pocket. _“Shiptu ina peta anna shi._ Can you see her now?”

“Yes.” John blinked as his vision clouded for an instant, then cleared. He looked at the girl in Greg’s arms and his eyes filled with sorrow at the thought that this beautiful, laughing child had been murdered by her own mother. She looked as solid as Mary did, but water dripped from her hair and clothes, a sad reminder she’d been drowned. “How long does it last? Is it permanent?”

“Unfortunately not. It should last about twenty-four hours.” Mycroft turned to Alice, doing his best to look friendly. He found himself to be surprisingly unperturbed by her sudden presence as one of his household. Perhaps it was the pain in Greg’s eyes as he’d told him about her, or the fact that he had also felt unwanted as a child, but he felt strangely sympathetic towards her plight. “Hello, Alice. I’m Mycroft and I want to welcome you to your new home.”

“I’m going to live here now, Mycroft? With Tim and Greg and Fenris?”

“Yes, you are.” He glanced over, noticing Mary had nearly reached them. “Here, let me take her while you greet your new tutor.” The jade ring he wore would allow him to hold her as well as protecting him from being drained.

“You sure?” Greg looked over at his lover in surprise. Mycroft had been very accommodating about him bringing her into the household, and Greg found it very heart-warming. He handed her over and smiled lovingly at him, pleased and more than a little touched by Mycroft’s gesture of acceptance. He couldn’t resist the temptation to lean closer and kiss his lover on the cheek before he turned to Mary and their newest houseguest. The raven’s black eyes peered at him curiously.

_“I am Bran, sent by Death. Are you Lord Greg?”_

“Yeah, but just plain Greg will do.” He grinned at the somewhat unhappy growl Fenris made as the raven fluttered onto his shoulder. The Wolf God was very protective of his pack.

“Well, entertaining as all this is, John and I should get our daughter home. Mycroft, is your car available?” Sherlock resisted the temptation to tease his brother, though he couldn’t help staring a bit. Mycroft with a child in his arms was an uncharacteristic sight, and somehow more than a bit unsettling.

“I’ll have my driver bring it around.”

\---

Mycroft’s sedan: (23 April, late evening)

“Are you still upset with me?” Sherlock glanced over at John, feeling somewhere between anxious and annoyed.

“No, I was just thinking… Being with Greg has really changed your brother for the better.”

“For the better? Do you really think so?”

“Don’t you? I’d have never though it possible, but he was actually surprisingly sweet with that poor child.”

“So I noticed.” His fingers drummed softly on the seat and a small frown line showed on his brow.

“It not a _bad_ thing, Sherlock.” John reached over and took Sherlock’s hand. “Being in love changes people, sometimes for the better. You don’t regret _us_ , do you?”, he asked softy.

“No, it’s got nothing to do with us. I’m apparently still a self-absorbed, heartless bastard.” A small smile twitched at the corner of his lips.

“I said I was sorry. I didn’t mean that. I mean, yes, you’re still self-absorbed, but you’re far from heartless.”

“I am still a bit of a bastard though?”

“I love you, but yes, sometimes you are, a bit.” John leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

“Good.” He flashed him a quick grin. “Just checking.” He fell silent, gazing out the window.

“Are you… _worried_ about Mycroft?”

“Worried? About Mycroft? Me? Don’t be absurd.” He made a dismissive little wave, but the line on his forehead deepened.

“Admit it. You _are_ worried, aren’t you?”

“A bit”, he confessed reluctantly. “Things have changed a lot for both of us over a very short amount of time, especially so for him.”

“Things have changed for you too. You’ve _both_ got families now.”

“You’ve been family to me for a long time, John. I mean, yes, we’ve got the sexy bits now, but at least I’m used to having someone in my life. Mycroft isn’t and now his house is filled with them. It seems… bizarre.”

“He seems happy, though.”

“Mycroft doesn’t _do_ happy.”

 “We’re _all_ doing things we didn’t do not that long ago. You’re not a virgin, I’m not straight, Greg’s adopted a ghost child, Mycroft’s happy…” John shrugged. “Things have changed for _all_ of us. There’s nothing wrong with that. Don’t worry so much.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, lounge: (23 April, late evening)

“The first thing I wanna know is how to make Alice comfortable.” Greg glanced over at Mycroft and smiled. Alice was laying on the floor beside his chair, leaning against Fenris. The Wolf God was lounging at Mycroft’s feet drinking his third bowl of mead. His lover was obviously more than a bit out of his element dealing with a child, but was gamely doing his best to entertain her. “I know she’s a ghost, but I want her to have things as normal for her as we can make them. She’s been through enough heartache and she deserves some happiness for a change. Mary’s told me about the Nothingness. Is there a way to safely keep her here? It sounds awful, and I don’t want her going through that if there’s some way we can avoid it.”

_“I can help with that. I will wrap my wings around her and take her to the Dreaming every night. Lord Morpheus is a friend to the clan of ravens and very tolerant of children. I’m sure he will let me enter with her. The power of the Dreaming will serve to sustain her, just as the Nothingness does.”_

“That’s a big relief. Thanks, Bran. Who is Lord Morpheus? Is he the Power in charge of dreams?”

_“Yes, he is Lord of the Dreaming. I am happy to help her. It has been a long time, but I was a child once.”_

“You used to be human?”

_“It was long ago, but yes. All of us who serve my Lady were once human.”_

“What else can I do to keep her happy? I know it’s gonna be frustratin’ to her, not being able to touch anything.” It had proven difficult to explain to Alice how she’d changed, and she still didn’t quite grasp the concept she was now a ghost.

_“If you get a jade ring for her, she will be able to move some small things more easily, and you can have some toys made for her of jade. If he will do so, Lord Morpheus might give her some other clothing, but it will vanish if she removes it. There is a safe way to make both her and Mary stronger without draining anyone’s life, but it will take some small sacrifice on someone’s part.”_

“What sort of sacrifice?”

_“Blood. Fill a small chalice with blood and if I drink it, I can feed it to them. It is a slow method, but the safest.”_

“I’m not sure how much a chalice holds, but I’m more than willing to donate.”

 _“About as much as the vessel you are drinking from._ ” He looked speculatively at the whisky glass Greg held. _“Perhaps a little less, but it cannot be your blood. The blood of a medium will have no effect. Lord Mycroft can give some, if he will.”_

“I’ll have to ask him, but I think he’ll agree… and I may have a source for getting a regular supply. Can any non-medium help? I’m sure John and Sherlock would, especially if it was to help Mary.”

_“As long as they are human, and mortal.”_

“Can you tell if it’s from a medium? We got a guy who runs a blood clinic…”

_“I don’t know what that is.”_

“It’s a place where people donate blood for surgeries and stuff.”

 _“I can’t tell if it’s from a usable donor or not, but it wouldn’t harm her._ ”

“Good. I’ll give Thomas a call and set things up with him. Bran, it’s been a long day for me. Do you mind if we start the lessons in the morning?”

_“Certainly. I am here to teach you for as long as it takes, and a tired student is a poor one.”_

“Well, then, let’s get Alice set up in one of the bedrooms, and we’ll take this up tomorrow.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s bedroom: (23 April, late evening)

“You, Mycroft Holmes, are a romantic.” Greg pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him and giving him a long, deeply passionate kiss.

“Me, a romantic? What ever makes you say that?” He smiled slightly. He’d been accused of a lot of things during his life, but being a romantic wasn’t one of them.

“Because the fourteenth of July will be our three-month anniversary. Did you really think I wouldn’t realize that?”

“Yes, well…” Mycroft found himself blushing. He did have a romantic side, one he’d suppressed for a very long time. “It did seem appropriate. What sort of ceremony would you like? I was thinking something small, perhaps in the garden.”

“Whatever you wanna do is fine with me. What about our last names? I’ll take yours, if you want, but I kinda like the idea of hyphenating.”

“Gregory Matthew Holmes-Lestrade. It does have a nice ring to it.”

“Yeah, it _does_. What the hell _is_ your whole name anyway?” He chuckled ruefully. “It seems weird not to know, but I never thought to ask you before now.”

“Joseph Mycroft Marcus Holmes-Lestrade. I quite like that last bit.”

“Me too. I kinda like the idea of puttin’ my name on you.” He grinned, nibbling on Mycroft’s neck. “It lets people know you’re _mine_.”

“I’ve very proud of that, you know. Being yours.” His hands roamed across Greg’s back, dipping lower to cup his arse. “I didn’t know what happiness was until you came along.”

“Seeing you happy makes me happy.” Greg rolled him onto his back, kissing him fervently before slowly working his way down his body, lavishing his attention on each erogenous zone. His lover moaned softly as he parted his lips, drawing his half-hard cock into his mouth. He wrapped his hand around the base, following the movements of his head. He felt it hardening in his mouth and his own cock thickened in response. Mycroft moaned his name as Greg growled, a low soft rumble that reverberated through his lover’s cock. Greg pinned his hip with one hand, picking up the pace of his movements as he felt his lover nearing orgasm.

“Oh, God… _Greggg_ …” Mycroft’s long fingers clutched at Greg’s hair as he came. Greg swallowed eagerly, relishing the taste of his lover on his tongue. He kissed his way back up his body, his cock rock-hard and pressing against Mycroft’s body.

“God, I want you so much.” Greg looked deep into his lover’s shining blue-grey eyes as Mycroft’s hands reached up, pulling his head down for a kiss.

“Then _take_ me.” Mycroft reached over, grabbing the lube off the bedside table and handing it to him. “I want… I _need_ to feel you, moving inside me.” He rolled over, arching into his lover’s touch as Greg kissed his way down his back. “I did make sure to clean up very thoroughly…”, he murmured, quietly hinting.

“Oh, did you?” Greg grinned as he parted his cheeks, bending low to trail his tongue between them. “You like that, don’t you?”

“Very much so.” Mycroft shivered, moaning softly as Greg’s tongue circled his entrance, teasing the sensitive nerves. His breath became more ragged as the tip of Greg’s tongue slid into him. He was soon begging with his entire repertoire of increasingly colorful language.

“You want my cock, lover?” Greg slipped a warm, slick finger into him. His lover gasped as he found his prostate, pressing against it in slow, wonderfully maddening spirals until Mycroft started begging again. He nipped lightly at his cheeks as he slid a second finger in. “God, you have the sexiest arse I’ve ever seen.”

“God, Greg… oh _Goddd_ … _Fuck_ me.” Mycroft was panting hard, cock dripping onto the sheets beneath him. “ _Please_ … Greg… I need it… I need your cock, now.”

Greg moved into position, rubbing the tip of his cock against Mycroft’s quivering hole. He pushed the head through the tight ring of muscle, slowly sinking himself in with a low, moaning growl.

“Your arse is so fuckin’ tight and hot.” He wrapped his arm around his lover, pulling him to his knees, his breath tickling and hot against the back of Mycroft’s neck as he began to move. “I love you, so much.”

“I…” Even now, the words still caught in his throat. There were so many times he’d wanted to say them, but he just couldn’t. “Forever.”

“I know, lover”, he murmured, nibbling the shivery spot behind Mycroft’s ear. “I _know_ you love me.” He shifted his angle and Mycroft’s moans told him he’d found the perfect spot. He felt his lover’s limbs begin to tremble as he picked up the pace.

Mycroft found the almost guttural, growling grunts his lover made as he thrust into him to be incredibly arousing. He loved this feeling; being filled with Greg’s flesh, his lover’s arms around him, his breath against his neck. He felt his orgasm washing over him in waves, and he clung to Greg’s arm, crying out his name.

Greg drove himself in deep as he came, wrapping his arms tighter around his lover. He held him there, kissing his neck as his now spent cock slipped out of him, not wanting to let him go. He never wanted to let him go; if he could, he’d just stay like this forever.

\---

221B Baker street, bedroom: (23 April, late evening)

“We should set a date to get married.” Having gotten Rosie settled and tucked in at Mrs. Hudson’s, John hung his jacket on the hook by the door.

“We can go to the registrar’s office on Monday. There’s a twenty-eight day waiting period, so that would put us on the twenty-fourth of next month.”

“You looked it up?” John smiled at Sherlock, slightly surprised and very pleased. He reached up, entangling his fingers in the silky curls and pulling his head down for a kiss.

“Yes. Let’s go to bed.” He tugged playfully at John’s jumper. “You’re wearing too much clothing.”

“It’s a wonder you two get anything done, what with all th’ shagging you do.” Bill looked up from the laptop, shaking his head.

“Is that _my_ computer? There’s literally a dozen laptops here, so why are you using mine?” John tried to frown at him while simultaneously struggling to prevent Sherlock from stripping him in the lounge. “Stop it,” he said to Sherlock, too amused to look properly stern. “You’d better not be watching pornos on there.”

“You’ve got Netflix”, said Bill defensively. “If you don’t want people using it, you shouldn’t leave it on. And I’m not watching pornos. I’m watching Grand Designs.”

“Why would you be watching that? You don’t even _have_ a home.”

“I can dream too, you know”, Bill grumbled.

“John, who _cares_ what he’s watching? Let’s go get naked.” Sherlock had given off trying to strip him, and was now dragging him towards the bedroom. “I need you naked, John.”

“You are incorrigible.” John laughed. “And I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

“You can have me several ways if you’d like.” He pulled John down the hallway and into the bedroom, suddenly very desperate feel John’s skin against his own. He unbuttoned John’s trousers, tugging his shirt up and running his hands across his skin as John peeled his jumper off.

“Sherlock, I can’t unbutton it with it all bunched up like that”, John chuckled. “If you want me naked you’re going to have to let me undress. Why don’t you get your clothes off so I can take off mine?” By the time John had looked up from unbuttoning his shirt, Sherlock was already nude, lying on the bed and eyeing him eagerly.

“How do you do that so fast?”

“How are you so slow?” He patted the bed beside him, leering hungrily at John.

“Some things are worth waiting for.” John took off his shirt with deliberate slowness, enjoying the impatient little noises Sherlock was making. He found it to be adorably arousing. It felt good, knowing the man he loved was so incredibly hot for him. He tossed the last of his clothing into the chair and climbed into bed, to be immediately pounced on.

“Hmm… better”, Sherlock purred contentedly, nuzzling at John’s neck while his hands roamed over his skin. “Have you ever used a cock ring?”

“No, but I get the feeling I’m about to. Please God, tell me you didn’t get the metal kind. I once had to send a patient to the hospital to get one cut off…”

“I got the silicon kind.” Sherlock leaned over and pulled open the nightstand drawer. “We can use the regular one, if you’d prefer, but I also got this one…” He rolled back over, grinning. Two rings dangled from his fingers. One was a plain red silicon ring but the other was, in John’s opinion, a somewhat ominous-looking black ring with a prostate massager attached.

“You are going to give me a stroke”, laughed John. “I think we’ll try the regular one first.”

“I thought you quite liked the other massager.”

“Yes, I did, but it might be a bit much, all at once. I think I nearly blacked-out the last time.”

“So we’ll save the Vibrating Arse-gasm Cock Ring plug for later, then.”

“The what?” John started to giggle. “Is that what it’s called? You have got to be kidding. Who on earth names these things?” He still couldn’t think of _the object_ as a butt plug without snickering like a school boy. “Arse-gasm?”

“And I’m hoping to have one the old-fashioned way soon…” He reached over, dropping the black device into the drawer and grabbing the lube. Applying a bit on the ring, he leaned down and rolled it onto John’s half-hard cock, making sure it wasn’t too tight. “Comfortable?”

“Surprisingly so… _ohh_ …” Sherlock had suddenly swallowed him whole, the muscles at the back of his throat undulating around the head of his cock. “That feels so _good_ …”

 _“Mmm_ …” Sherlock hummed, sending vibrations through John’s rapidly hardening flesh. He took his time, reveling in the sensation of John’s cock thickening and hardening in his mouth. He slid his mouth back up, teasing the underside of the corona and making John moan. Then he worked his way up John’s body; nipping gently at his inner thighs, kissing his belly, his hips, capturing his nipple between his teeth. He nibbled his neck, kissing his way along John’s jawline before capturing his lips. Then he scooted over, lying face-down on the bed. He turned his head, gazing at John, his rainbow-grey eyes shining through his long dark lashes. “I want your cock in my arse, John.”

John took the lube, pouring it into his hand to warm it. He reached down, parting Sherlock’s cheeks and discovering _the object_.  “You wore this to dinner with your parents?” He leaned over, his breath tickling against Sherlock’s neck. “That is so perverse… and very, very hot.” He grinned, finding himself glad he hadn’t known. He’d have hated to sit through dinner with his future in-laws while trying to hide an erection. He pulled it out, watching with erotic fascination as the silvery rubber plug slid out of Sherlock’s body. He knelt between his lover’s long legs and lined himself up. Spreading the oil on his cock, he worked the rest into his lover’s body with his fingers, caressing his prostate.

“John…”, Sherlock murmured lovingly and more than a little impatiently, yearning to feel his lover inside of him.

John pulled out his finger, moaning as he pressed through the tight ring of muscle and slowly sank himself deep into Sherlock. His lover reached back, pulling him down until his chest was pressed against Sherlock’s back.

“Lay on top of me, John. I want to feel your skin against mine.” This was a bliss that far exceeded any drug he’d ever taken; the feeling John buried deep inside, the weight of him pressing him into the mattress, the sensation of his skin against his own, the tickling of his breath on his neck.

John braced himself on his arms, getting leverage so he could move while keeping as much of his body as possible pressed against Sherlock’s. He knew his lover needed this, probably more than he needed to orgasm. It made sense to John; after denying himself any form of human contact for so long, Sherlock now craved it. He began to move at a leisurely pace, hitching his hips up until he was nearly out, then plunging back in. The cock ring had him rock hard, and the feeling of sliding in-and-out of his lover’s hot, tight flesh was exquisite. He took his time making love to him, pressing the head of his cock against his lover’s prostate with every stroke.

“God, John, _yesss_ …”  John’s skin was hot and slick with sweat. Sherlock felt his own orgasm building and his limbs began to tremble. He felt his cock begin to leak, prostatic fluid pooling beneath him and soaking the sheets. “John…”

The sight and sound of Sherlock orgasming was always an enormous turn-on for John, and he picked up the pace of his thrusting. He could feel his own climax building, delayed but not stopped by the ring pressing around the base of his cock.

“Cum in me, John”, he panted. “I want to… feel the heat… of your cum… erupting inside me.” Sherlock’s internal clock had calculated it had been around twenty minutes. He’d read online that twenty to thirty minutes was about the limit for safety with cock rings.

“Oh god, Sherlock!” He came hard, his climax made more powerful by the ring. It seemed to last longer than usual, but finally spent, he rolled off of his lover, lying beside him and gasping for breath.

“Let’s get this off of you.” Sherlock rolled over, pressing his body against John as he reached down and rolled the cock ring off of him. He sat it to the side, grinning as he licked the sweat from his lover’s neck. “I’ve got one for me as well. Maybe I’ll give it a try in a bit. It is still early, after all…”

\---

Sherrinford: (24 April, mid AM)

Twenty-nine steps. She paced out the width of her cell again. Thirty steps. How very odd, she thought. Again. Thirty steps. Once more. Twenty nine steps. After several more passes, she realized it was a binary code.

Eurus spent the next two hours, pacing and translating. The pattern of the world had changed. There was a subtle crack in her confinement, one she could access. She sat on her bunk, eyes closed, reaching out with her mind. She could feel it now; feel the changes in the pattern. She could feel the magic. And what she could feel, she could change.

She wondered how Jim was enjoying the afterlife. A small smile curled at the corner of her mouth as she decided she’d ask him.

\---

221B Baker street, bedroom: (24 April, mid-morning)

“Sherlock, what is wrong?” John sat the tea tray down, looking at his lover in concern. He’d already been up when John woke, sitting in his chair with his eyes closed, obviously deep in thought. Used to his partner’s sudden moods, John had given him his space, going down to help Kat and Mrs. Hudson with the children, but now he was starting to worry. Sherlock looked unusually pale, even for him.

“Something’s very wrong, John.” He was curled into his chair, knees drawn up in front of him, eyes now wide but fixed on some distant point.

“What? Are you feeling alright? Maybe some tea…”

“I can’t _remember_. God, what good is this seer rubbish if I can’t make sense of it?”

“Can’t remember what?”

“I had a dream. I know it was a warning of some sort, but I can’t remember it. It’s not in my mind palace where it should be, so I think it was a vision of some sort. But why can’t I remember it? I’m left with the impression that something disastrous is happening, but I can’t recall what.”

“Have you tried calling Lucifer?”

“Yes. He suggested I get Mycroft to summon Morpheus. I’m meeting him at our headquarters in a while. He said Anthea may be able to assist. Apparently, Morpheus has chosen her to be his agent here on Earth.” He quietly decided not to tell John about Lucifer’s warning that Morpheus didn’t take well to being summoned. If he thought it was dangerous, John would insist on coming along.

“Who is Morpheus?” He thought about the name, making an educated guess. “Something to do with sleep?”

“The Lord of Dreams.”

“Well, you’d better get dressed then, unless you’re going in your dressing gown.” John sighed softly and sipped at his tea. He wished he could get his lover to at least drink some tea, but he knew it was a lost cause.

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house: (24 April, mid-morning)

“Come on in, Donovan.” Greg was getting used to people’s first reaction on seeing the house, but it still amused him. “We’ll go talk in the kitchen. It’s cozier.”

“I hope so…”, she muttered, trying to hide her surprise. She’d expected Mycroft Holmes to have a fairly grand home, but not a guarded, gated mansion. The level of security confirmed her suspicions. A man with a minor cabinet position wouldn’t need that level of security, but a high-ranking member of the Secret Service might. She followed Greg to the kitchen, stopping dead in her tracks. “That… that’s a wolf. There’s a wolf, in your kitchen…”

“Yeah, have a seat. You want somethin’ to drink?”

“No…” She sat warily at the bar, staring at the wolf.

“How about you, Fenris? Want another mead?” He poured himself a glass of juice and looked over at the almost empty bowl in front of the Wolf God.

_“Yes. I’ve been running a lot with Alice and Tim. The frisbee game is fun.”_

“Yeah, I thought you’d like that one.” He grinned, looking over at Sally. Her hand was clamped over her mouth and her eyes were wide with shock. “Sally, meet Fenris, the God of Wolves. Fenris, this is one of my co-workers, Sally Donovan.”

 _“Greetings, Sally Donovan._ ” Fenris glanced up at her then went back to his bowl. A bit of the small scream she’d been holding in escaped between her fingers.

“So, you wanna talk to me about bein’ barmy?” Greg chuckled softly. He should feel a little guilty, shocking her like this, but he didn’t. He knew she’d been concerned, but her calling Anderson to ask about Mycroft had irritated him.

“Wha… wha…” It was as close to an actual word she could form.

“I think you said something about me hearin’ things?”

“G-Greg… How?”

“Magic. It’s real, Sally, and it’s gettin’ more common by the day. That case the other day, with the guy skinned in the alleyway? We caught the killer, but I can’t very well bring a demon in for trial, so Fenris ate him and sent him back to Hell.”

“This is insane. It _can’t_ be real… He _ate_ him?”

“Yeah, like I said, he’s a God. Fenris, do me a favor and show the lady your human form.”

 _“If you wish, Greg._ ”

One moment she was looking at a wolf, the next a slender, grey haired man was looking at her with the same strange eyes the wolf had. She stood, nearly knocking over the stool, and backed a few steps away.

“Calm down, Donovan.”

“Calm down! Calm down? How can I calm down? There’s a bloody werewolf in your kitchen!”

“I am not a werewolf, but it is a common mistake to make. I am the God of Wolves, Fenris, son of Loki. Do I have blood on my face, Greg? I washed it after breakfast.”

“Yeah, you’re fine. It’s just an expression. Sit down before you faint, Donovan.”

“How is this even possible?”

“We think it started about three months ago…”

\---

Undisclosed location, Secret Headquarters: (24 April, mid-morning)

“I feel rather uneasy about this. Can’t one of you just… call him up somehow?” Mycroft sighed, glancing at Anthea and Bran as Sherlock scrubbed away the last summoning circle they had made. Although Fenris had proven useful and was a welcome addition to the team, there was too much about summoning that Mycroft still hadn’t learned. It seemed far too easy to summon something other than what was intended.

“He contacts me, sir.” Anthea shrugged. “We can wait until I fall asleep and hope he decides to contact me, but that’s the best I can do right now.”

_“You are wise to be uneasy, Lord Mycroft. The Lord of Dreams is not unkind but he does not like to be summoned.”_

“Can’t _you_ go? You took Alice there last night.”

_“Not alone. I can only cross to Dream’s realm with a mortal soul, and I am no longer mortal.”_

“Then take Sherlock.”

_“I can’t do that without killing him. I can’t fly with a living soul. I could try with Mary, if you can summon her, but I can’t guarantee her safety. Lord Morpheus has a sympathy for children that doesn’t extend to adults. The Dreaming can be a dangerous place, but children are very powerful there. The dreams of children have great strength.”_

“This is beginning to sound like a _very_ bad plan. Bran, just how powerful is he?”

_“Very. He is one of the Old Ones, and can shape reality itself. Should he be angered, there will be nothing we can do but beg for mercy.”_

“Then I take it he’s far more powerful than Fenris. If the banishing spell didn’t work on him, it certainly won’t work on Morpheus. The circle won’t contain him, will it?”

_“It is doubtful. It wouldn’t matter anyway. His power reaches beyond it.”_

“If he does become out of control, is there any way to stop him?”

_“Only by your death, Lord Mycroft. While he is within the circle, the death of the caster will reverse the summoning.”_

“Yes, well… Let’s call that Plan B. What about Lucifer? Is he a match for Morpheus?”

_“Yes, but they are enemies. Should there be a battle between them it would surely destroy most of the city.”_

“Sherlock, are you sure this is absolutely necessary?”

“Of course I’m not sure. How can anyone be sure with a ridiculous power like this? All I know is I have an overwhelmingly urgent sense of impending disaster.” The mop made a satisfying clatter as he tossed it aside.

“Why can’t you remember? If you dreamt it, it should be in your mind palace somewhere.”

“It isn’t, which is the one thing that makes me think we should take this seriously. If it was just a dream, it’d be there. Since it’s not, I have to presume it happened outside of my subconscious mind.”

“Well then, I suppose we have no alternative.” Mycroft took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “Let’s get to work on the circle.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house: (24 April, early-afternoon)

“Dad, what are you doing here? How did you even find the place?” Greg tried to hide his dismay behind a smile as he greeted his elderly father.

“Andy told me. Tim gave him the address to send him some things, but I brought them with me instead. Get the box out of the taxi, will you? It’s a bit hard to manage, with my bag…” Peter Lestrade stepped carefully out of the taxi. He was still very healthy for his age, but he’d always hated train travel and he still felt a bit queasy. He looked searchingly at his youngest son, but except for a bit more silver in his hair, he didn’t look any different, despite the fact that he was now with a man.

“Here, give me that too.” Greg sighed quietly and took his overnight bag.

“Quite a place this Mycroft of yours has, what with a guard at the gate. What does he do with the government? It must pay a lot. And we wonder where our tax money goes…”

“He has a minor cabinet position. He’s got family money, Dad. It’s not your taxes paying for all this.”

“Bit posh for you, isn’t it?”

“I’m gettin’ used to it. Come on in.” The smile faded from Greg’s face as he turned away. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see him, but he didn’t really want to explain about magic to his 82 year-old father. He sat the box and his father’s things down in the foyer. “You want something to drink, maybe a sandwich or something?”

“That would be nice. Can’t stand eating on the train; never could. I want you to know, I gave Tony what-for when I saw him. I don’t know what’s wrong with people these days…”

“Christ, you didn’t tell him Tim’s with me, did you?” He grimaced unhappily. Tony was moody and temperamental and if he found out Greg was engaged to a man, his often unpredictable elder brother might decide the son he’d tossed out now needed rescuing.

“Of course I did. I let him know you stepped up and took over where he failed. I tell you, if I was a little younger, I’d have given that boy a sound thrashing, I would. The very thought of it; tossing his own son out on the streets like that!”

“Alright, calm down, Dad. Have a seat. What do you want to drink?”

“A beer; what else?” He looked around the kitchen and turned back to his son. “Or is it all wine here? Looks like the kind of place a man who’d drink wine would have.”

“Yeah, we got all kinds of beer.” He opened a couple of bottles, handing one to his father while he made a sandwich for him.

“You didn’t tell Tony about my engagement, did you?

“No. So where’s this… this Mycroft of yours? And where’s Tim? I wanna see my grandson.”

“Mycroft’s out for a while, and Tim’s out back, playing with… the dog.”

“Got a dog, has he? Probably some kinda fancy breed; one of those little yappy things, I’d imagine.”

“No, he’s a… wolf-dog. Look, Dad, you gotta quit makin’ assumptions about things.”

“My cousin Terry was a…” He hesitated, obviously struggling not to say poof, or one of the many other derogatory terms he commonly used. Greg didn’t know whether to be amused, annoyed, or pleased that he was at least trying. “…gay. He had two of those little yappy dogs, and used to dress them in little outfits. And the clothes he wore! Swishing around town in ladies blouses…”

“What has that got to do with anything?” He snorted softly with exasperation as he set the sandwich down in front of his father. “You really shouldn’t judge people like that. There’s all kinds of gay people. We’re not all the same. Besides, so he was a bit swishy; so what? Who the hell does it hurt? What do you think; that now that I’m with a man, I’m gonna suddenly start wearing blouses?”

“Well, no. But you’re not like _that_. You still like women. I just don’t understand why you won’t find a nice _woman_ to settle down with. One bad marriage doesn’t mean you can’t try again.”

“Dad, just give it a rest. It’s got nothing to do with the divorce. I’m with the man I intend to spend the rest of my life with, and that’s _not_ gonna change. I’m in love with him, and that’s that.”

“I just don’t understand _why_. You say you’re bisexual, so why choose a man?”

“Because the person I fell in love with is a man. It really is just that simple. I’m happy, Dad. I know it’s hard for you to accept, but can’t you just be glad that I’m happy and with somebody who really loves me?”

“I’ll try, Son, but that kinda thing… I’m just not very comfortable with it.” Not very comfortable was an understatement, and both of them knew it.

“I know, Dad.” Greg smiled gently at his father. “Just you trying means a lot. Stay here, and I’ll go get Tim.”

\---

Undisclosed location, Secret Headquarters: (24 April, early-afternoon)

 ** _“Why have you summoned me, mortal?”_** Morpheus, Lord of Dream, stood on the center of the circle, looking disapprovingly at Mycroft. He was a tall, very lean man, with snow-white skin, wild dark hair and black eyes with silver eyes pupils that glowed like stars. **_“I am not some demon that you can command. And you, Anthea… you disappoint me. Perhaps I chose wrongly in you.”_**

“I apologize deeply for my impertinence, Lord Morpheus. I only seek your guidance, but I would never dare to even _try_ to compel you. Please don’t blame Anthea. I take full responsibility for this intrusion.”

**_“I am beyond your power to compel. You speak prettily, but pretty words don’t impress me. What do you want of me?”_ **

“Since I became aware of the danger the cracking of the seal presents, I’ve been trying to assemble those with the talents needed to combat the more dangerous situations that we may encounter. My younger brother is a Seer. Last night he had a dream that we believe to be a dire warning of some terrible disaster that’s occurring, but he can’t recollect the specifics. I was hoping you might aid us by helping him to remember.”

**_“I will aid you this once, but should you ever seek to summon me again, you will regret it to the end of your days and beyond. Step forward, Seer.”_ **

Sherlock strode into the circle, stopping in front of Morpheus. The Lord of Dreams reached out, touching his forehead.

**_“Sleep, Seer, and when you awaken, you will remember.”_ **

Sherlock collapsed in a heap on the floor at his feet. Morpheus looked dismissively at the others.

**_“Sleep mortals, and learn what it is to anger the Lord of Dream.”_ **

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, Tim’s room: (24 April, early-afternoon)

“Thanks for bringing my stuff, Grandad, but you really didn’t have to come all this way. Andy could have just sent it to me.” Tim set the box on the floor and sat down on the bed beside his grandfather.

“I had to come check on you, boy.” He looked searchingly at Tim. “Andy told me what happened. Your father should be ashamed of himself, throwing a child out in the streets like that!  Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“Is it true, what Greg said? About you being… gay?”

“Yeah. Are you… terribly disappointed in me?”

“It’s just… you’re so young. How do _know_ you’re that way? Have your ever _tried_ liking girls?”

“Grandad, I just know. I don’t hate girls, I’m just not attracted to them. It’s not like I chose to be gay or anything. I just am.” He shrugged unhappily, knowing his grandfather would disapprove. “I hope you don’t hate me for it like Dad does, but it’s what I am.”

“Of course I don’t hate you. You’re my grandson. I may not like it; you being gay, but that doesn’t mean I could ever stop loving you. But Tim… How can you know for _sure_ you don’t like girls without trying it first?”

“Um… The way you know you don’t like guys? It kinda works the same way, Grandad.”

“Well. Maybe you’ll change your mind when you get older. How would you feel about coming to stay with me, instead?”

“I like it here. I mean, I appreciate you asking, but I really don’t want to go back to Bridgewater. I’m starting school at Westminster on Monday. Uncle Greg and Uncle Mycroft have been really good to me.”

“ _Uncle_ Mycroft?” Peter Lestrade frowned. “He’s not your uncle.”

“Well, he will be when they get married.”

“What’s he like, this Mycroft fellow? He hasn’t tried anything funny, has he?”

“No! He’s not like that. He’s… kinda formal, but he’s been really nice, and he really loves Uncle Greg.” Tim looked over at his grandfather. “You don’t think that just because someone’s gay, they’re some kind of pedophile or something, do you?”

“A lot of them are.”

“That’s just not true! I mean, you don’t think that about Uncle Greg, do you? Or me?”

“No, it’s just… there’s a lot of bad ones out there. I see it on the news, all the time.”

“You don’t have to worry, I promise. Uncle Mycroft’s nothing like that.”

“What _is_ he like?”

“Well, like I said, he’s really formal. He seems kinda… I dunno, intimidating at first, but he’s been really good to me. He really loves Uncle Greg a lot.”

“Those two… they don’t carry on in front of you, do they?”

“No, it’s just, you know, how they look at each other. I think Uncle Mycroft’s never really been around kids much, but he’s really made an effort to try to make me feel at home here. He even got me into Westminster.”

“Well, just be careful. You never know about people.”

\---

Undisclosed location, Secret Headquarters: (24 April, mid-afternoon)

“Sir! Mycroft, wake up!” Anthea shook him hard, then slapped him, deciding that if this didn’t wake him, she’d empty the bucket of dirty mop-water on him. Mycroft lashed out and she jumped back, barely avoiding a blow to the throat that would have killed her.

Mycroft sat bolt upright, confused, heart pounding in his chest, and wondering who was screaming. It took a moment for him to realize it was him. He clapped his hand across his mouth, trying to stop.

“Are you alright, Sir?”

“I… I think so”, he croaked out, his throat raw and hoarse from screaming. He shuddered, trying to shake the memory of the nightmare away. “How is Sherlock?”

“Still asleep. I thought it best not to wake him.”

_“I am glad you have awakened, Lord Mycroft. Your nightmare must have been a terrible one. Twice, you came near to death, but I kept you safe.”_

“Thank you, Bran. Anthea, are you well enough to go get some water? Alexander should have some in the car.”

“Yes, sir, just a little shaken. I think Morpheus was a bit more merciful to me.”

“And bring the whisky as well. I could use a drink to calm my nerves.” Mycroft rose unsteadily to his feet, waving away her attempts to help him. He staggered over to check on his little brother, sinking gracelessly to his knees beside him. Sherlock had a light sheen of sweat on his brow and he was tossing restlessly, but other than a slight increase in breathing, he seemed alright.

Still shaking, Mycroft closed his eyes, locking the nightmare back in the depths of his mind palace. For a while, in his dream, he’d been seventeen again. It took some time, but by the time Anthea returned, he felt calmer and more himself. He stood and walked back to the desk, sitting on top of it and downing a full bottle of water before the dryness in his mouth was gone. She handed him a glass of whisky and poured one for herself.

“Did I say anything coherent, during my nightmare?”

“Nothing of consequence, Sir.”

“I see.” He could tell by her carefully neutral expression that it wasn’t true, and that whatever she’d heard, she’d keep it to herself. He decided he’d ask Bran later, as the raven had apparently been unaffected by Morpheus’ spell. He sat quietly, building new walls in his mind palace while waiting for Sherlock to wake. A few minutes passed and then Sherlock sat up abruptly, trembling and eyes wide with horror. Mycroft rushed over, helping him to his feet.

“What was it? What did you see.”

“The future. The city in flames, a bridge collapsing… Eurus. She _knows_ , Mycroft.” He shuddered. “She sees the pattern of magic, and she’s powerful.”

\---


	18. Let's Raise a Little Hell, Darling

Mycroft’s Sedan: (24 April, mid-afternoon)

“You’re quite certain she’s secured?” Mycroft glanced up from his mobile, looking over at his little brother, who was fidgeting nervously in the seat beside him.

“Yes, Sir. The night duty report says she was restless; pacing again, like she does… But as of six hours ago, she’s just been laying on her bunk, staring off into space. She hasn’t moved.”

“See that the guard is doubled, and have her heavily sedated. Use the gas. I don’t want any personnel anywhere near her. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir.”

He checked his mobile, reading the texts from Greg telling him of his father’s visit. He sent one in reply, letting him know he’d be busy for a while without telling him why. He hadn’t told him about the summoning, and he was glad he didn’t. Greg would have insisted on being there, and Mycroft was grateful he’d been spared the experience. It certainly wasn’t one he’d want to repeat. His throat was still a bit sore from screaming.

“I’m going with you to Sherrinford.” Sherlock’s fingers drummed restlessly on the seat.

“No, you most decidedly are _not_. We both know how she is about you. The further from her you are, the better.” He looked sternly at his younger brother. “If something happens to me, you’re our last line of defense against her.”

“Mycroft, your little book of spells isn’t going to do any good against her. Eurus can do more than just see the pattern. She can manipulate it, which means she’s capable of doing nearly anything she can conceive of. She doesn’t need spells to wield magic.”

“Which is why it’s imperative that you remain here. It’s not a matter for discussion, Sherlock.” He looked up Thomas on his mobile, and pressed call.

“Mycroft, it’s good to hear from you. I was just thinking of calling you.”

“Thomas, we have a rather urgent situation. Might your helicopter be available?”

“Of course. It’s at your disposal as always. I’ll call to have it readied. What is the situation? Can I be of any other aid?”

“It’s… rather complicated, but there’s a new player on the board; one that poses a significant threat. Meet Sherlock at my home, and he’ll brief you. I really don’t want to go into it over the mobile. And have your jet readied as well. It’s best we evacuate anyone non-essential. We estimate that the south of Spain should be far enough to be out of the range of magic.”

“That does sound serious. I have a place in Cadiz that should do to accommodate everyone. I’ll call to have the house opened. I’ll meet with Sherlock as soon as I’ve made the arrangements. Would you object to me having a word with Fenris about Liam if I have time? We have some questions about his condition I hope he might be able to answer.”

“Certainly. In fact, I’d be grateful if you remain at my place until I return as an extra measure of protection. There’s a security matter I have to take care of but I’ll be there as soon as possible.” He hung up, looking at his younger brother in concern.

“She’ll come for you, Sherlock.”

“Obviously. She’s going to cause trouble first though, as a distraction. That’s what my vision was about, and that should be our first concern.”

“Agreed. I’ll need you to brief Greg on the situation as well.”

“Coward. You didn’t even tell him you were doing a summoning.”

“Clearly not, or he’d have been there, and I’m very glad he wasn’t. There’s no point in him suffering needlessly. We both know there’s nothing he could have done. I notice John wasn’t there either.”

“Greg’s going to be angry and you know it. It’s why you want me to tell him; to give him time to cool down before you have to face him. And for the record, I _did_ tell John. The only reason he stayed behind was for Rosie’s sake.” Sherlock smirked, leaving out the rather long argument they’d had about it and the fact that he’d conveniently left out Lucifer’s warning when he’d told him.

“Call John and have him get her and the other non-essential members of your little household ready to evacuate. And make sure you have Greg get Tim to safety as well.”

“You really are getting very sentimental, brother dear. Sometimes I worry for you.” He said it flippantly, but there was a very real concern behind his words. “All those unruly little emotions…”

“I’m merely keeping our sister from getting any more leverage against us than she already has.”

“Such as Tim?”

“He’s _family_ , Sherlock. Speaking of which, perhaps we should see about getting Mummy and Father to safety as well.”

“If you like. I doubt she’ll bother with them, though. She’s never shown the slightest interest in them.”

“Still, better safe than sorry.” Mycroft sighed heavily. “You call them. Mummy’s much more likely to listen to you. Have them go visit some friends for a few days. I doubt Eurus will bother tracking them down if they’re not at home.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, study: (24 April, late afternoon)

“He did what?” Greg was furious. When he’d left the house that morning, Mycroft had told him he wanted Bran’s advice on some spells he was contemplating learning. He hadn’t mentioned a summoning, and he hadn’t told him about the trip to Sherrinford either. It wasn’t just the deception that he was worked up about. Greg was desperately worried for Mycroft’s safety, and there was nothing he could do but channel that worry into anger. “I won’t put up with him not tellin’ me the truth about shit like this. I shoulda been there. From now on, summoning comes under the heading of field ops. I’m puttin’ my foot down on that.”

“Be sensible, Greg. There’s nothing you could have done. Confining it to essential personnel was the wisest decision. If it’s any consolation, I didn’t bring John either.” Sherlock prowled restlessly around the room, fiddling about with random objects. Although he’d never admit it, he was worried about Mycroft as well. If she chose to, Eurus could easily destroy him with little more than a thought.

“Yeah, but you _told_ him, didn’t you?”, Greg growled. “Keepin’ government secrets is one thing, but anything to do with the team, I should know. I’m the goddamn Director of Field Ops, for Christ’s sake.”

“It’s just as well you weren’t there. All you’d have accomplished is subjecting yourself to your worst nightmare. If you want to do something useful, you might want to consider having your nephew join Mrs. Hudson and Kat. We’re sending them out of town with the girls, out of the range of magic until we have some handle on this crisis.”

“Fuck, my Dad’s here too. How far does magic reach now? Is Bridgewater far enough away to be safe?”

“Nowhere in England is out of the range of magic now, though my vision only showed London to be in danger. To be on the safe side, we’re sending everyone to Cadiz on Thomas’s jet. It’s departing Farnborough as soon as everyone’s on board.”

“How am I going to explain that to my Dad?”

“I’m sure I don’t know. He’d probably be safe enough if you just sent him home. Eurus isn’t interested in you, and Bridgewater is probably far enough away to avoid any collateral damage. We’re expecting that I will be her main target.”

“And John? Are you sending him off too?” Greg knew the answer even as he asked the question. John wouldn’t abandon Sherlock any more than he would abandon Mycroft.

“He refused to go, as I expect you will. It would be wisest, however…” Sherlock sighed. John could be remarkably stubborn when he wanted to be.

“No way that’s happenin’. I’m not leaving. I’m part of this team, and so is John. Call whoever you gotta and tell them Tim’s on the way. I’ll send Dad home, even if I gotta force him on the damn train.”

\---

Greg and Mycroft’ house, Tim’s room: (24 April, late afternoon)

“Look, Dad, I’m not gonna argue with you. You either get on the train and go home or go to Cadiz with Tim.”

“But why? You can put me out of the house if you want, but you can’t force me to leave town. I know my rights.”

“Yeah, I _can_ and I will if you make me.” He was trying very hard to contain it, but Greg’s temper showed in his tone.

“Why can’t you tell me what’s happening? Why are you trying to send us away? Is it some kind of…” Peter glanced at his grandson and lowered his voice to a whisper. “…gay orgy of some sort that this Mycroft is having?”

In the background, Tim coughed softly, trying to cover a laugh. He knew the situation was serious, but his grandfather was being ridiculous.

“Christ, give me strength”, Greg muttered. He closed his eyes and counted to three. “I can’t go into detail, but it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with anybody being gay.”

“Then why won’t you tell me what this is all about?”

“Because I can’t. It’s a… a national security thing.”

“National security? Then how do _you_ know about it? Just what does he do with the government, anyway? Is he some sort of secret agent?” Peter had always liked spy thrillers, and he found the notion that the man his son was determined to marry was a secret agent somehow made the idea a bit less disturbing.

“I can’t talk about it. Please trust me, and just this once, do what I say.”

“Grandad, why not come with me to Spain? It could be fun.” Tim glanced worriedly at his uncle. Whatever was happening, he was sure it was some magical threat. If he wasn’t safe here, with the armed guards and Fenris, it must be something truly dangerous. “I’d feel a lot better if you came with me.”

“But I don’t like Spain. It’s full of _Spaniards_. They’re all lazy and over-sexed, and I can’t stand the food. Bloody awful stuff, all those spices.” Feeling he’d made several very good points, he glared at his son.

“Come on, Grandpa. It’ll be fun. Besides, it would give us a change to spend some time together. You can give me advice and stuff. Plus you can keep me safe from all those over-sexed Spaniards.” Tim gave a slightly pained smile. An undetermined amount of time in Cadiz with his grandfather in tow, giving him advice on how not to be gay and constantly complaining was going to be the exact opposite of his idea of fun, but Uncle Greg looked like he was on the verge of losing his temper.

“Well, I suppose so, when you put it that way. Someone’s going to have to keep an eye on you. I’ll go get my bag.” He turned to Greg. “But you’re going to have some explaining to do when I get back, young man”, he said sternly as he stalked out of the room.

“Jesus Christ. Thanks, Tim. You were a lot of help. I know he’s going to be a pain. Damn, he can be stubborn! I was about to lose my temper with him.”

“Yeah, I could tell. Don’t worry about us, Uncle Greg. So, I guess whatever’s happening, it’s got to do with magic, huh? It must be pretty bad, if you’re sending us all the way to Spain.”

“Yeah, but we’ll handle it.” Greg smiled but his eyes showed how worried he was.

“Please stay safe, okay?” Tim abruptly hugged him. “I love you, Uncle Greg. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”

“I love you too.” Greg patted his back reassuringly. “I’ll be fine.” He silently prayed he wasn’t lying.

\---

Oxford Street: (24 April, late afternoon)

He’d been eager to go the Earth realm ever since his small interference in the pattern had precipitated the first cracks in the shield. Using a Way had its disadvantages though, and so he’d decided to be patient, waiting for enough magic to appear on Earth to go under his own power. Now his patience had been rewarded. He’d finally found a potential source of magical power on Earth; someone with enough potential to forcibly widen the cracks as they gathered power for themselves. All he’d had to do give them a few subtle hints on how to see and manipulate the pattern, then follow the flow of the magic. He cautiously materialized some distance away from the source, not wanting to encounter some nascent demigod in his first moments of freedom. He found himself on a busy pavement in front of Moss Brothers.

“Huh. _That’s_ unexpected.” He stared at his reflection in the window-glass curiously. “Not bad, though. Maybe I’ll keep it. I wonder why _this_ face, though?” He reached up, magically smoothing away the scar above his left eye. The sudden shrieking of two nearby girls interrupted his train of thought, and he turned in surprise as the pair rushed over to him.

“Oh my God! You’re him! Tom! Tom Hiddleston! Oh my God, I cried so hard when you died in War Horse! Can we take a photo with you?” The pair were obviously a state of great excitement. One was giggling almost manically, and the other was hopping up and down, unable to contain her enthusiasm. He grinned, appreciating the spectacle of her rather large breasts bouncing around.

“A photo…” He stared at the two, utterly perplexed. He’d been watching the mortal world over the years through his scrying pool, so he knew what a photograph was, but it was the only part of what they’d said that made any sense to him. Before he knew what was happening, the two were standing on either side of him, holding up a small rectangular device. It took him a moment to realize it was a mobile phone. There was a brief flash of light, then the two started squealing again.

“My boyfriend’s going to be so jealous! I can’t wait to put this on Instagram!” He glanced at the unfamiliar face he wore in the photo. “We both thought you were so sexy as Loki!”

“Loki?” He stared at the pair, entirely bewildered.

“I mean, The Night Manager’s my favorite role you’ve done…”, said the bouncy one. For some reason, this declaration made her blush and fan herself. “Sooo sexy. But my boyfriend’s such a comic book geek. He’s just going to _die_ when he finds out I met you! Loki’s like, his favorite character from the movies.”

“The movies…” Motion pictures. He’d never seen one, but he knew what they were. He laughed, suddenly understanding. Someone had apparently made a motion picture about him, and this Tom Hiddle-whatever had played him in it. Magic was lazy, generally taking the path of least resistance, so while he had the ability to shapeshift into any form, the modern idea that he looked like this actor had shaped his default appearance in this new, modern world. The absurdity of it was amusing. “Well, as below, so above.”

\---

Mycroft’s Study: (24 April, late afternoon)

“What do you mean she’s not there? She’s been under constant surveillance the entire time. How could she not be there?” Sherlock paced the room, subverting his anxiety into restless energy. There was no way to know how long his sister had been free, and he shuddered to think of the damage she’d cause.

“I don’t know. It was some sort of… hologram. I should be back within the half hour. Have everyone meet me at HQ. Call in Liam, and bring Fenris and Bran. And get that pet computer hacker of yours down there. We’ll need him for intel. In fact, call everyone in. It’s likely we’ll need them on coms. Is Thomas there yet?” Mycroft struggled to keep his voice level and calm, but there was still a faint tremor in his tone. The thought of Eurus loose in the world with magical power was beyond terrifying.

“Yes, he’s talking with Fenris. Greg and John are coming as well,” he added, somewhat unnecessarily.

“I’d much rather they were heading to Cadiz with the others. It would be the sensible thing to do.” Mycroft sighed softly, knowing Greg wouldn’t leave his side, nor would be abandon the city to its fate. “Neither of them will be much use if this comes down to a magical battle.”

“They’re both far too emotional for that. Neither one of them is willing to leaves us, Mycroft.”

\---

Thomas’s helicopter: (24 April, late afternoon)

“If you’re wrong about this, Mycroft, you could be putting your entire career on the line.” On the other end of the mobile, Lady Smallwood’s brow furrowed in worry. It wasn’t like Mycroft to take chances, so the threat must be very grave indeed.

“I’d gladly sacrifice my career to be in error, but I’m not wrong, Alicia. You know how dangerous she is even without magical power. This situation is incalculably worse. It’s very likely that we’re facing a disaster of tremendous scale. Lives will be lost.”

“I’ll do what I can, but you know how slowly things move.”

“Call an emergency meeting. Heighten the terror alert as much as possible, and say it’s on my authority. Make up something if you have to. Tell them I’ve had word of an imminent major terrorist attack.”

“I’ll do what I can, but Jason’s likely to block any efforts I make.”

“Not if you play this right. If he thinks this will all come to naught, he’ll support it in the hopes he can use it to have me removed from the council. Show a little doubt in your support, and he’ll take the bait.”

“I suppose you’re right. I wish you could be there to handle him. You’re so much better at this sort of thing than I am. I guess you’ll be too busy combating her with your magic?”

“Outmatched though I may be, yes.”

“Be careful, Mycroft”, she said softly. “I don’t have many friends left these days.”

“I will, Alicia. Thank you.” Mycroft frowned at his mobile, and started calling his other contacts. He didn’t know how much good it would do, but he was determined to do his utmost to minimize the loss of life.

\---

Mycroft’s lounge: (24 April, late afternoon)

“Look Donovan, I don’t know exactly what’s going to happen, but call in everybody you can and prepare for the worst. Do it on my authority.”

“Can you at least give me something to go on? What’s happened?”

“I know this is gonna sound crazy, but you know this magic stuff is true. There’s a very real possibility of massive fires around the city as well as bridge collapses. It’s gonna cause panic on a colossal scale. I know there’s not much you can do, but _anything_ we can do to be prepared is better than nothing. Just do what you can, okay? Say it’s a drill or something if you have to. And Sally, be careful. Do your job, but try to stay safe.”

“I’ll do my best, Sir. And Greg… you stay safe too.” She hung up her mobile, saying a silent prayer as she turned her car around and headed towards Scotland Yard.

\---

Mycroft’s kitchen: (24 April, late afternoon)

“So that is why you smelled like one of my children? You are trying to help him mate with a human female.” Fenris took a long drink from his mead, looking curiously at Thomas. “Why would you help a werewolf?”

“As I said, he’s my friend, and his happiness is of importance to me. Why wouldn’t I give what aid I may? Besides, I’m rather adventuresome regarding sex. I found it to be a very stimulating experience.”

“Your friend is probably the only werewolf left on Earth. Before the time of magic ended, the vampires were their mortal enemies. Your kind can command werewolves, if they are strong enough. They tried to enslave them. Most were killed in that war. The others died out with the end of magic because they could no longer have cubs or change others. The few who were immortal are probably long gone by now. I suspect the same is true of vampires. Those who were once human don’t adapt to immortality very well. It has been a few thousand years since more vampires could be created, so they have probably all gone mad and died by now.”

“I swear to you, I have no intention of trying to enslave Liam, or anyone else for that matter.”

“That is good because I would not permit you to enslave him. I carry the power of Asgard’s sun in my right eye and I would burn you to ash if you did.”

“Can you be of aid to him? I’m willing to continue trying to help him practice retaining control during sex, but I’m sure he’d much rather prefer another solution. He’s straight, and while he’s capable of having sex with me, I’m sure it makes him uncomfortable.”

“I will help him. He is only having problems because he is still young. He should be able to control his change. I caught his scent on you, and he is a strong breed.”

“So there are different breeds of werewolves and some types are immortal?”

“There were once. The immortals were as vampires are, un-aging but still vulnerable to death.”

“How is lycanthropy passed on?”

“For his breed, he must bite but not kill them when he is in werewolf form. Even then it is only a certain thing if the moon is full. If he bites them as a wolf or a human it won’t work. It can be passed on through mating with someone when he is in that form as well.”

“So if he remains human during sex, there’s no chance of passing it on?”

“If she becomes with child, the child will be a werewolf too, even if he is human when she conceives. Sometimes it happens with the mother, but that is from carrying the child. But it is dangerous and often the mother and child die unless she changes too. If he’s going to have pups with her, she should become a werewolf first. That is much safer.”

“Thank you, Fenris. I’m sure Liam will be very grateful for your aid.” Thomas turned to Sherlock as he stepped into the kitchen. “Ah, Sherlock, any further news on our situation?”

“Mycroft wants us all to meet at headquarters. Call Liam and have him meet us there.”

\---

City of London Cemetery: (24 April, early evening)

Eurus wiggled her toes in the cool, damp grass and looked at the name chiseled into the shining black granite. She sat on the tombstone, feeling quite pleased with herself. Her teleportation skills were rapidly improving. Her first attempt had taken her home to the ruins of Musgrave. It was much easier when she could picture the place clearly in her mind, and it had taken a few more tries to be able to get to a place she’d never been.

“Hello, Jim. Time to wake up.” She stared at the grave and clapped her hands together, slowly moving them apart. As she did, the ground in front of her opened up, leaving the coffin exposed. With one slight motion of her hand, the lid flew off, sailing high into the air before landing with a clatter a few dozen meters away. She jumped lightly into the grave, lying on top of the decaying corpse of James Moriarty.

“Wakey-wakey, Jim. It’s time to go play.” Eurus bent her head, pressing her lips over the drawn-back, blackened lips of the corpse. She smiled, wondering if Jim would be the best friend she’d always wanted. If not, he’d at least be a fun henchman for a while. Jim always knew how to have fun. It occurred to her that as long as she was bringing him back, she might as well make a few improvements. Eurus took a deep breath, breathing in the dank scent of decay and breathing life into the cold, still body.

The corpse beneath her stirred, the body filling out as rotting flesh transformed back to living skin. His chest heaved as he breathed in, and his dark brown eyes fluttered open.

“Miss me?”

\---

Undisclosed Location, Secret Base: (24 April, early evening)

They had gathered in the common room of the nearly-completed first sub-floor: Sherlock, John and Mary, Bill, Mycroft and Greg, Fenris, Alice, and Bran, Anthea, Molly, Thomas and Liam, Anderson, and Craig Owens, their newest recruit and their resident expert in computers.

“We should prepare ourselves for the worst”, Mycroft intoned gravely to the group, turning to Thomas. “Has our equipment been delivered?”

“Most of it. The computer systems are in place and the body armor has arrived as well as most of the weaponry, including the specialized rounds. Some of the heavier armaments are yet to arrive.”

“Good. You there, Craig. Get the computer system up and running. We need eyes on what’s happening outside ASAP. Greg, see that everyone’s properly equipped. I’ll be in my office, preparing spells. Sherlock, you and John come with me. I have a spell that should hide us from her, at least temporarily. It may buy us some time.”

\---

The Savoy: (24 April, early evening)

It hadn’t taken long to charm himself into a suite at the one of the best hotels in London, as well as acquiring a whole new wardrobe. Loki looked down at the suit he wore, trying to decide how he felt about modern fashions. The tie seemed a silly affectation, but he did like the feeling of the silk shirt against his skin. It was, he decided, less practical but overall quite a bit more comfortable than the leather, wool and fur he was accustomed to wearing. He looked at the large cart of room service food he’d ordered. It was certainly a welcome change from the rather monotonous diet of Jotunheim. He decided that he quite liked the conveniences the modern age had to offer. The lights dimmed suddenly as a tall hooded figure with a large heavy book chained to his right arm materialized. Loki sighed unhappily. Despite his caution in avoiding the Ways, he’d already been found.

“Destiny. God’s Blood, you’re worse than Heimdall ever was.” Despite his blindness, Destiny of the Endless had the power to see the tiniest detail in any realm. “What do you want now, old man? I did my part long ago.”

“You have yet one task to preform, Maker of Mischief, ere our bargain is complete.” The grim, hooded figure opened up book, holding it out and pointing dramatically at the page with his aged and withered hand.

“Seriously?” Loki looked down at the page and grimaced. “I’m here to have fun. That really doesn’t sound like fun. The first bit’s not so bad; I can knock that out quickly enough, but tutoring some human? Really?”

“It is your final task. You are still outside the pattern, and if you want to become part of it again, this is what you must do. He is chosen, and if he asks, you shall help guide him.” His sightless eyes shone slightly from beneath his hood. He held out a small glass vial filled with pale, purple liquid. “You will know when to use this.”

“What if I refuse? I know what you can and can’t do. You can’t _make_ me do anything. What if I just do the first bit and skip the boring part?” In response, Destiny turned to the next page. It was entirely blank. _“That_ can’t be good.” Loki sighed in resignation. “Fine, just one last favor, and then I’m done being your errand boy. I’m my own God, free-and-clear to make my way as I see fit.”

“That is our deal.” Destiny faded away into a cloud of gloom.

“Charming, as always”, Loki grumbled. He snapped his fingers, exchanging the comfortable suit for his more-practical dragon-leather armor and green hooded cloak. Pulling the cloak up to cover his apparently famous face, he sighed and headed out to do battle.

\---

Undisclosed Location, Secret Base: (24 April, early evening)

“Hello, who’s this, then?” Anthea took the body armor suit that Greg handed her, looking curiously at the little girl peering uncertainly at her from behind Greg’s legs. She was clad in an oddly Victorian looking pink and black dress, and water dripped constantly from her, disappearing as it dripped off. “A ghost?”

“Yeah, this is Alice. Alice, this is Anthea. She’s a good friend of Mycroft’s.”

“Hello, Alice.”

“Hello. Greg, can I go play?”

“Sure sweetheart.” Greg knelt beside her, making sure her jade ring was still on. “Remember what I told you about this?”

“Yes, that I’m not to touch anyone unless I’m wearing it.” She smiled. “Do you like the new dress that Mr… Morpheus gave me?” She said the name very carefully, as if she’d practiced getting it right. “He’s a bit funny looking but he’s very nice. He said Bran can bring me back to visit anytime. There’s loads of fun things there to do there. I even got to pet a unicorn.”

“It’s beautiful, and you’re a very pretty girl. Just be careful to stay out of everyone’s way, okay?”

“I will. I know you are at work and everybody has important policeman stuff to do. Will Tim be back soon? I miss playing with him.”

“Yeah, he’s just gone on a little holiday. You’re a good girl Alice. Go have fun playing.” He watched her run off, smiling for a moment and then rose to his feet.

“Anthea, I’d like to ask a favor. I know you don’t really know me…”

“You’d be surprised, Sir.” A cat-like smile curled at the corners of her lips.

“Yeah, probably not.” He grinned at her, knowing she’d probably spied on him for Mycroft for years. “I want to ask a favor. I know your powers work best if you’re asleep, so whatever goes down, you’re likely to be _here_. There’s a file on Alice in my office. If something happens to me and Mycroft, I want you to make sure she’s taken care of.”

“I will.” She smiled softly. “Mycroft’s already asked me.”

\--

Starbucks: (24 April, mid evening)

“I want to find Sherlock. I don’t understand why I can’t. I’ve looked and looked. I can’t even find that silly little friend of his, or Mycroft.” This time, she decided, she’d eliminate everyone and everything Sherlock ever cared about. He’d broken his promise, and she’d make him pay for that mistake. He’d said he take her home, then he’d let Mycroft lock her up again. She giggled with sudden inspiration. He’d always wanted a dog. Maybe she’d turn him into a dog and keep him chained by her side forever.

“We’ll find them soon enough, I promise. Until then, we should celebrate. We’re going to rule the world, just you and me, best friends, always together. I’m thinking we should do something festive to announce our arrival. Fireworks, people screaming… the city in ruins.” Jim Moriarty smiled at Eurus, wondering what the limits of her magic were. Fun as her powers were, he’d have to find a way to either steal them or get rid of her. She’d get bored with him eventually, and death hadn’t been nearly as fun as he’d thought it would be. He had no intention of returning to the gloomy Plain of suicides, endlessly prowling the banks of a river he could never cross. “Let’s raise a little hell, darling.”

“Something festive…” Her eyes darted around, looking for inspiration. She smiled widely as a teen-ager wearing a garish, fire-breathing dragon t-shirt walked by. “I have the perfect idea!”

\---

Undisclosed Location, Secret Base: (24 April, mid evening)

“I feel ridiculous. Must I?” Mycroft looked unhappily at his reflection in the mirror. He’d donned the black body-armor suit under no small amount of protest, mainly because Greg had been both insistent and still more than a little angry about that morning.

“Yeah, you _must_. And if I wasn’t still pissed off with you, I’d tell you that you look damn sexy in it too.” He leaned over, softening his words with a kiss.

“It won’t help against magic.”

“It’s better than nothing. Besides, you need to set an example for the others.”

“Guys, get in here! You’re gonna want a look at these monitors.” They rushed into the computer room, staring at the monitors in shock.

“Holy fuck!” Greg’s eyes went wide in horror as they darted between the various screens. There were three enormous, fire-breathing dragons attacking the city; one at Westminster bridge, one perched on Buckingham palace and the third circling over Victoria Tower at Whitehall. Fires were spreading everywhere, marking the flight paths the dragons had taken. On another monitor, a terrified reporter was screaming and running towards the cameraman as a small army of shambling skeletons and zombies approached. Greg’s fear suddenly vanished as he snapped into crisis management mode.

“Alright, who here can take out a dragon? Fenris?”

 _“I can take at least one dragon. If I die, Mycroft, you will have to promise to summon me back in three days_.” Fenris had shifted to wolf form. _“Assuming you survive. If you don’t, I’ll try to find you in Hell.”_

“Take the one at the Bridge. Can Mycroft’s magic handle a dragon?”

_“If it doesn’t breathe on him, it is possible. These are fire-breathers, so ice will be your best weapon. They are weak against ice. Aim at its head when its mouth is closed. It must open its jaws to breath fire. No weapon you have can penetrate its hide, but it can be suffocated it you can summon enough ice.”_

“I’ll take the one at Whitehall, then. It’s likely the Palace has been evacuated through the underground tunnel system.” Mycroft’s face looked grim as he patted the pouch that hung by his side. He was glad he’d invested in a number of large diamonds. He just hoped he lived long enough to use them.

“Bran, anything you can do?” Greg turned to the raven which sat perched on Mary’s shoulder.

_“Nothing against a dragon. My powers don’t work on the living. I can send undead back to Death, but there are too many for me to stop them all. Mary may be able to possess one and use it to do battle with the others. Guns will not help. She will have to decapitate them with a sword.”_

“Then Thomas, you and Liam go with him. There’s nothing you can do against a dragon, and if those things spread there’s no telling how many people will die. Fenris, if you survive, go after the one at the Palace. We’ll rendezvous with you there if we can. Anybody else got anything?”

“If we’ve got the drugs to knock me out, I might be able to drag something useful through the Dreaming.” Anthea sounded frightened but determined. Morpheus would likely punish her for it, but that didn’t matter now. “Morpheus said morphine would work best. Something about sympathetic magic, I think.

“I can handle that”, said Bill, glad to have something useful to do. “It’s my field of expertise.”

“Thomas, we got that in stock?”

“Yes, the medical supplies arrived just this morning.”

“Good. Anthea, see if you can do anything about gettin’ some of those fires put out. If you can’t, back up Mycroft and me. Sherlock, what are you doing?”

“Summoning some assistance.” He  concentrated on summoning Lucifer as touched his lighter to the feather he had given him, dropping it as the flames consumed it. A circle of flame briefly appeared on the floor as Lucifer materialized.

“Detective, your timing leaves much to be… Bloody fucking Hell!” Lucifer looked in amazement at the screens. “I’ll give it to you lot, you don’t do things by half.”

“So you must be Lucifer. Can you take out a dragon?” Greg looked at him speculatively.

“Yes. You’re really going to owe me big for this one, though.” He turned to leer at Sherlock. “Detective.”

“Then take the one at Buckingham, and back up Mycroft and me at Whitehall when you’re done. What’s our best option at getting where we need to go? The streets are gonna be chaos.”

 _“I can run very fast.”_  There was a slight growl in Fenris’s mental voice. His hackles raised as he built the rage he’d need to battle a dragon.

“Liam and I can also run in wolf form. We should be able to get there in a matter of minutes.”

 _“I will carry Mary and a sword for her to use.”_ Bran fluffed his feathers slightly, subconsciously reassuring himself.

“I can drop you two off at Whitehall.” Lucifer straightened the lines of his suit as his shimmering white wings popped out. His brown eyes turned a bright, glowing red as he summoned his demonic power, gathering it around himself like a mantle.

“Alright, then let’s move out. I want the rest of you on coms.” Greg handed Lucifer a com-link and reached down to make sure Fenris’s was in place. He turned to the non-combatants. “Keep us informed, and redirect anyone who survives their fight to the next most urgent emergency. Sherlock, you’re in charge of coms.”

“No. Let John take charge of that. Mycroft, take the concealment spell off me. If I can draw her attention, it might prevent her from summoning anything else.”

“That might work,” Mycroft admitted reluctantly. “I have a speed spell I can put on you. Once you start running, so does the clock on the spell. It will only last about a quarter of an hour, but it might buy us some time. Just remember that once the time is up, you’ll be exhausted, so use it wisely, brother dear.”

“Can you put one on me as well? He’s going to need back-up, and Molly can handle things here.” John glanced at Sherlock. “I’m coming with you, and I don’t want to hear a word about it.”

“Yes. Some back-up would be wisest.”

“John…”

“Not. A. Word.” John glared defiantly, his arms crossed over his chest. Sherlock sighed softly as the group headed up in the lift.

\---

Mycroft and Greg: (24 April, mid-evening)

“I’d much rather you stay here.” Mycroft looked mournfully at his lover, knowing that wasn’t an option. “I couldn’t bear losing you.”

“Yeah, well, we’re both likely to die, so that’s probably not gonna be an issue. If we do die, we do it together. Forever, lover, you and me.”

“Forever, Greg.”

“How romantic you two are.” Lucifer’s hands tightened around their wrists and he took to the sky.

\---

Sherlock and John: (24 April, mid-evening)

“So where do you think she is?” John breathed in the cool evening air, wondering if he was going to take his last breath that night and consoling himself that at least Rosie was safe.

“I…” Sherlock closed his eyes, reaching out with his power. “That way.”

“Wait.” John grabbed his head and pulled it down, kissing him with all the love and passion in his being. “I love you, Sherlock.”

“I love you too, John. Now come on…” He grabbed him by his hand. “The game is on.” They took off running, their motion a blur as they ran towards Eurus.

\--

Thomas and Liam: (24 April, mid-evening)

The two watched as Bran transformed Mary into a bright, glowing orb. Snatching her safely in his beak, he clutched the sword in his talons and took off into the sky.

“Think we can do this, Tom?” Liam looked at him nervously.

“We can and we _will_. Focus on success and destroy as many as you can. We’ll fight side-by-side, as friends should do.” Despite the danger, he couldn’t help grinning. A battle against an army of undead was just the kind of adventure he’d always wanted. If he died the true death, it would be a noble one, fighting to save the city he loved.

The pair turned into wolves and followed Bran, racing down the traffic-jammed streets towards the army of undead.

\---

Limousine, en route to Cadiz: (24 April, mid-evening)

“Oh fuck!”, Tim exclaimed, looking at the news report on his laptop with wide, terrified eyes. He knew whatever was going to happen would be bad, but he’d never imagined anything like this.

“Tim, watch you _language_ , young man. There’s ladies here! What are you watching?” Peter Lestrade leaned over, looking at the screen and snorting dismissively. “You shouldn’t watch those monster films. Give you nightmares, it will.”

“It… It’s not a movie, Grandpa. It’s the news.” He looked in horror at the scene, knowing that somewhere in the chaos, his Uncle Greg was out there, risking his life. “London’s under attack!”

“Don’t be silly. Of course it’s not the news. It’s just one of those films they make these days. Stop it. You’re going to scare the ladies.” He smiled reassuringly at Mrs. Hudson, who he found he fancied a bit. “He’s just at _that_ age. Pay him no mind.”

“No, Grandpa, it _isn’t_ a movie. It’s really happening. _This_ is why they sent us out of town.” His voice was shaking. He loved his uncle, and he’d become very fond of Mycroft and Fenris. He wondered if they were out there, trying to fight, and he blinked back tears. “They did it to keep us safe.”

“What’s happening, dear?” Mrs. Hudson glanced over curiously.

“I… there’s dragons attacking the city, and an army of zombies.”

“Oh, shit! He’s right.” Kat held her mobile in trembling hands. “It’s all over the news.” Mrs. Hudson looked over her shoulder and went pale with shock.

“See what you’ve done? Now you’ve got the ladies all upset over some silly film.”

“It’s not a movie, Mr. Lestrade.” Kat looked over at the girls, safely tucked away in their car seats with Steven invisibly watching over them. No wonder John had seemed so grim when he’d loaded them in the car to go to the airport. She prayed silently that he and Sherlock were safe.

“Of course it is. There’s no such things as dragons.”

“There are now, Grandpa. Magic… it’s real.”

“You need to stop this rubbish right now, young man. I’m not to old to give you a sound thrashing.”

“Just look, Grandpa. It’s on every station, even the international ones.”

“He’s right, Mr. Lestrade. I know it’s hard to believe, but magic _is_ real.”

“Oh dear. I imagine the boys are right in the middle of it too.” Mrs. Hudson’s voice was shaking. “They’re always rushing right into danger…” She put her hand over her mouth, weeping softly.

“But it can’t be real…”, Peter said, trying to deny what he was seeing.

“Grandpa, I’ve seen magic. It is real.”

“I’ve seen it too, and so has Aunt Martha. We’ve got a fairy with us now, and a ghost back at Baker street.”

“It’s just not possible.” The confident dismissal in Peter’s voice had turned into doubt.

“I’m afraid they’re right, Peter. I’ve seen it too.” Mrs. Hudson’s hand tightened around Kat’s arm. “How can they fight monsters like that? My poor boys, all alone…”

“They’re not alone, Mrs. Hudson.” Tim remembered of the promise he’d made, but he was sure they’d forgive him for breaking it… assuming they survived. He tried to push the dark thoughts away and have faith that they’d be alright. “They’ve got Fenris and Uncle Mycroft, and probably some other people with special powers.”

“Mycroft? What can he do against something like that?”, Mrs. Hudson sobbed.

“He’s a sorcerer. I’ve _seen_ him. He can throw bolts of lightning and stuff. And Fenris is… um… a God.”

“There’s only one God, boy.” Peter looked at his grandson sharply.

“Maybe there’s only one big God, but there’s lots of little ones. Fenris is the God of Wolves, like from the old Viking stories. He’s really powerful. And Bran, he’s a magic raven that works for the Goddess of Death or something. She sent him to tutor Uncle Greg.”

“What’s Greg got to do with all this nonsense?”

“Uncle Greg’s a medium. He can see ghosts and stuff. He’s probably, like, calling up a bunch of ghosts to fight or something.”

“Do you really believe all that?”

“I do, Grandpa. I’ve _seen_ Fenris turn into a man and back to a wolf. And him and Bran… you can hear them talking in your head, like telepathy. Please don’t cry, Mrs. Hudson. I’m sure they’ll be okay.” He had a lot more conviction in his voice than he felt, but there was no reason for the others to worry. It wouldn’t help.

“Do you really think they have a chance?” Mrs. Hudson tried to blink back her tears, clinging to the small bit of hope Tim had given her.

“Sure I do. I’ve got faith in Uncle Greg and Uncle Mycroft and the others. I guess the only thing we can do is have faith in them too.

“It’s not the only thing, Tim.” His grandfather looked over at him and bowed his head. “We can pray for them.”

\---


	19. Full Circle

Westminster Bridge: (24 April, mid-evening)

Fenris raced towards the bridge, leaping over abandoned vehicles, dashing through panicked crowds and dodging on-coming cars. Perched atop the Lambeth side of the bridge was an enormous red dragon, scales gleaming in the flickering light of burning vehicles. The center of the bridge was partially collapsed, leaving a narrow strip connecting the two sides. Fenris stopped at the Westminster side, calculating what would be his surest route to victory without endangering more humans. At his maximum size, he could easily swallow it, but not without destroying the rest of the bridge and any people still trapped on it. Some few survivors still clung on to life on the Lambeth side, hiding behind the few cars that weren’t on fire. As he watched, another burning car exploded, sending debris into the air. A couple of people near the explosion ran, trying to escape to safety across the remains of the bridge, only to be incinerated by a jet of dragon fire.

It wasn’t acting like a normal dragon. Despite the fearsome reputation the old tales had fashioned for them, dragons were generally shy, reclusive creatures. This one was obviously under the control of the sorcerer who had summoned it. Its natural instincts would have made it flee the busy brightness of a modern city. They also didn’t tend to kill without reason and they certainly wouldn’t waste a meal by incinerating it. The fact that it was controlled gave him an advantage. Dragons were highly intelligent, cunning creatures, often capable of wielding magic. A controlled dragon would react more like a beast, fighting with brute strength and breath weapons.

Burning it was also out of the question. Fire dragons were capable of living comfortably in active volcanos, and summoning enough solar fire from his eye to kill it would likely melt a huge swath of the city. Fenris had a breath weapon of his own, and he could try freezing it, but that too presented a danger to the humans nearby, and if the dragon managed to counter it with its fire, they would cancel each other out.

His best bet was to drown it. Fire dragons didn’t do well underwater and lacked the ability to swim. Course of action decided, he crouched down and then took off, running at top speed as he leapt across the gap. He stopped again, calculating his next move. Dragons were fairly light weight for their size, having incredibly strong but hollow bones. He could easily match it in size and he’d have the advantage of weight. If he hit it at the correct angle, he should be able to knock it into the river. If he could then get a solid bite on its throat, it would come down to one question: would he be able to suffocate it before he drowned along with it?

He raced toward the dragon, increasing his size as he launched himself from the top of a burning panel truck. Nearly as large as the dragon by the time he reached it, his paws struck its side. Fenris lunged for its neck as they fell, tumbling into the water.

\---

Chapel Avenue: (24 April, mid-evening)

“I don’t know if we’re still broadcasting, but this is Tanya West, reporting for London Live News. My cameraman, Ian Black, and I are still trapped in the news van, but we’re running out of hope and out of time. The police have been overwhelmed, and with their weapons having little or no effect, those who survived their initial encounter have retreated for now. I heard some explosions earlier that may have been grenades, but the creatures are still coming. They appear to now be trying to overturn the van. I don’t think we have long, but I’m determined to keep reporting until the end…” Tanya’s voice quivered with fear. They’d tried escaping by driving through the crowd of undead creatures, but the sheer number of them had jammed under the wheels, leaving them trapped. Her brief hopes of rescue had been dashed when the police had fled, and she’d decided to die with as much dignity as she could, doing the job she loved until the bitter end. She screamed as a loud thump resounded against the roof.

Liam barked at Thomas from atop the vehicle, alerting him that he could hear survivors inside the van. One zombie scrambled over the top of its companions, grabbing at his ankles. He reached down, ripping its head off with a swipe of his claws before jumping into the fray.

“Try to get the van clear before they pull it over. I’ll see about summoning some help.” Thomas transformed to mist, reforming on top of the van. He closed his eyes, concentrating. Moments later, hordes of rats poured out from the sewers, swarming over the zombies. In the background, Bran swooped down, zombies falling in his wake as he snatched at them with his claws. One zombie, a burly, only slightly decomposed man, gleefully lopped off heads with a long, wickedly sharp machete. Mary’s bright blue eyes glowed in his formerly vacant face.

Rats summoned, Thomas jumped down beside her, fighting back-to-back to clear a path to safety for the trapped news crew. Slowly, one-by-one, they cleared the van of zombies. There were still too many on the streets for the crew to safely get away. Thomas spotted a fire escape attached to the side of a nearby building and had an idea.

“Bran! Keep a path clear to that fire escape. I’m going to get these people out of the van. If I can get them to it, Liam should be able to tear the lower steps away. They’ll be trapped, but safe.”

 _“I will keep the path open._ ” The raven circled the van, keeping it clear. Thomas tore the back door off the van as the woman inside screamed.

“I’m going to get you to safety. Follow me.”

“Ian’s ankle is twisted. He can’t run.”

“Not a problem, dear lady.” Thomas jumped into the van, scooping the cameraman into his arms as they made a dash to the fire escape. He leapt up to the landing, depositing the shaken cameraman as Tanya scrambled up behind him. She screamed as Liam came barreling around the corner, ripping away the lower ladder.

“He’s on our side. Have no fear. You’re safe now.”

“Wait! Who are you?”

“Thomas Laurence Challenger, vampire.” He grinned toothily and leapt back into the fray. They were slowly pushed back down the avenue, vastly outnumbered by the seemingly endless army of the walking dead, but every shambling creature destroyed was one less menace to his beloved city.

\---

Undisclosed Location, Secret Base: (24 April, mid evening)

“You’re sure you’ve got the dosage right?” Anthea looked dubiously at Bill. “I’d rather not O.D.”

“Relax. I’m an expert at this.”

Anthea lay back, concentrating on the Gate of Horn that would lead her to the Dreaming. The room around her grew hazy and less real, and she soon found herself in front of the gate, holding the key that was both her passage through the towered gate and her seal of authority from Morpheus.

“Greeting, servant of our King. How may I assist you?”  The gatekeeper was a very elderly lady in a tattered, black, hooded cloak. She was bent with age but had bright sparkling eyes set in her wizened face.

“My city is under attack, and I come seeking help. Will Lord Morpheus see me?”

“No, but he’s aware of your problem and has graciously given me permission to give you aid. Three things will I give you.” The old woman reached up, pulling a rope which hung above her head, just barely within her reach. The tower bell tolled once.

Within seconds, a large, black, winged mare appeared. Mist flowed from her wide nostrils, and her eyes glowed a fiery red. The old woman reached into a bag that hung by her side and pulled out a silver bridle. The nightmare lowered her head, allowing the woman to fix the bridle on her.

“This mare will serve as your mount, but be sure you are off her by the time the sun dawns or your soul will take her place in the herd.” The woman reached into the bag again, pulling out a small, plain blue stoneware jug and handing it to Anthea. “Dip this vessel into a river and it will pour as much water as you need, but take care not to drop it, or all of the water of the river will come flooding from it.”  The elderly woman removed her cloak, shaking it vigorously. When she placed it in Anthea’s hands, it transformed into a shimmering black velvet, set with small diamonds that gleamed like stars against the night sky. “This will shield you and your mount from all that is magic. When the sun begins to rise, place the cloak on the mare and tie the ewer to her reins and she will return them to me.”

“Thank you. Is dragon’s fire considered magic?”

“The fire it breaths is, but the fire born from that which it ignites is not.” The old woman reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Take care, young one. Your astral form can die as easily as your mortal body. And do not forget, you may only touch that which is capable of dreaming.”

\---

Whitehall, Victoria Tower: (24 April, mid-evening)

“Get down!” Greg threw himself across Mycroft as a military attack helicopter fired, unleashing a hail of heavy artillery rounds over their heads at the dragon. They crouched, hidden behind the crenelated stonework as the great beast roared, fire pouring from its jaws. The helicopter erupted into flames, exploding as it went into the Thames.

“Dear God…” Mycroft cautiously peered past their scant cover at the great beast. Other than a few scratches on its gleaming scales, it was undamaged. He ducked back down, crouching beside Greg. “It’s barely scratched. All that did was annoy it.”

“Yeah, I figure we’re only gonna get one shot at this thing.” Greg kept his voice level and calm, but his heart was pounding. He had faith in Mycroft, but he was pretty sure they were both about to die.

“Greg, I may not have another chance to say this…”

“Don’t. We’re gonna make it through this.”

“Please. I _need_ to say this.” In that moment, when it looked as if they had no future, his past didn’t seem to matter anymore, and the words he’d wanted to say came pouring freely from his heart. “I love you.”

“And I love you. Now let’s do this thing. I’ll take off for the next bit of cover and try to draw its attention. When it turns to look at me, ice the bastard.”

“If I miss…”

“You’re not gonna miss. I got faith in you, lover. You ready?”

“Ready.” Mycroft’s hand was trembling slightly as he clutched the largest diamond. His fear wasn’t for his own life, but for the man he loved. He forced himself to steady it as Greg took off running.

“Hey! You big ugly lizard!” As soon as he’d got far enough away that Mycroft was clear of the dragon’s breath, Greg stopped and waved his hands in the air. “Here’s a target for you!”

 _“Kishpu Shiptu Seg halba niri-a._ ” The white bean shot from Mycroft’s finger, towards the dragon’s head as it fixed its eyes on Greg and began to open its jaws.

\---

Buckingham Palace: (24 April, mid-evening)

Lucifer sighed, wishing he at least had one of Maze’s hell-forged knives to fight with. Even the sharpened edges of his wings wouldn’t penetrate the dragon’s scaly hide. A blast of dragon-fire flowed around him, instantly disintegrating his suit.

“Now you’ve done it. That was Armani.”

The great beast roared with anger, perplexed that its target remained in the sky. It opened it jaws wide, preparing to breathe again. As it did, Lucifer reluctantly dove straight down its maw. He’d have to destroy it from the inside and it was doubtful he’d be able to get out the same way he went in.

This was going to be messy and humiliating. If Sherlock survived, the detective was really going to own him more than a new suit.

\---

8 Canada Square: (24 April, mid-evening)

“John, I want you to hang back.” Sherlock stopped in the stairwell, in front of the door that led to the rooftop.

“Sherlock, I’m not letting you face her alone.”

“That’s not what I’m suggesting.” Sherlock’s face was grim. “There’s only one way to stop her, John. I’ll get her attention and you do what you must.”

“You want me to kill her?”

“With her level of power, it’s the only logical solution, and considering what we now know about the afterlife, even that may not be a permanent one.”

“I’m sorry. I wish there was another way.” Despite all she’d done, John knew her death would hurt Sherlock, but they both knew she had to be stopped.

“Now is not the time for sentiment. There’ll be time for that after.”

“You’re just going to have to deal with one sentiment. Be careful, and know that I love you.”

“And I love you. Don’t miss, John. One clean shot to the head. She can change reality, so death must be instantaneous. You won’t get a second chance.” Sherlock opened the door and dashed across the rooftop to where his sister stood, watching the chaos she’d unleashed and laughing.

“Hello, Eurus.” He stepped beside her, drawing her attention so John could get into position for his shot.

“Hello, Sherlock. Do you like my little celebration? It’s very festive.” She clapped her hands with child-like glee as she watched the fires spreading across the city below. “I’ve always liked fire. I think I’ll fill the world with fire.”

John crept forward, raising his gun and taking aim. Before his finger could tighten on the trigger, he was suddenly grabbed from behind. A hand clenched his wrist, and he heard the bones snap before he felt the pain. The gun clattered to the ground as an arm circled his waist and he was dragged backwards, towards the edge of the building.

“No, no, no. You’re always in the way, John. It just won’t do.”

John shuddered in horror. He’d know that voice anywhere. It was James Moriarty. John struggled to free himself, but the man was inhumanly strong.

“Just enjoy the view on the way down. Remember, John, it’s never the fall, it’s the landing.” Laughing, Moriarty tossed him off the side. John screamed as the pavement came rushing toward him. Forty-five stories was a very long way down.

\---

River Thames: (24 April, mid-evening)

Fenris struggled to get a better grip on the dragon’s throat as the water around them boiled, scalding patches of fur from him. Ignoring the pain, he bit into the scaly skin. He knew he’d be unable to penetrate the beast’s hide, but he could still crush its throat with the strength of his jaws. The water wasn’t nearly as deep as he’d hoped, and he struggled to stay on top of it, using his greater weight to keep its head under the shallow water. His forelegs wrapped around its body, pinning its wings while he desperately kicked at its hind legs, trying to keep it from disemboweling him with its rear claws. He clamped his jaws tighter as he felt the pain of its claws raking across his belly. For long minutes, they fought in the murky water, each seeking to destroy the other.

He felt its struggles weakening as his own strength began to fade, but his jaws were locked firmly on the dragon’s throat. Whether he lived or died, he knew his battle was won. The great beast went limp as Fenris’s vision went black. His last thoughts were of his pack, and his hopes for their safety.

\---

Chapel Avenue: (24 April, mid-evening)

“Again, this is Tanya West, reporting for London Live News. Our camera is down, but I’ll continue reporting via my mobile for as long as the battery holds out. We’re safe for now, rescued by well-known jet-setting billionaire Thomas Challenger, who claims to be a vampire. There’s a werewolf fighting alongside him as well as a large raven. One of the zombies also seems to be fighting on their side, but they seem to be in danger of being overrun any minute now. To any police or military that respond, it appears that these zombies can only be stopped by having their heads severed or destroyed…”

\---

Whitehall, Victoria Tower: (24 April, mid-evening)

The ice spell had muzzled the dragon’s mouth, preventing it from breathing, but it was far from dead. It clawed desperately at the ice, seeking to scrape it away before it suffocated. As Mycroft cast another spell, the dragon suddenly turned, its tail sweeping towards him. He threw himself to the ground, narrowly avoiding it. He heard a crash and looked over towards the stonework Greg was crouched behind. It was gone, swept off the building by the dragon’s tail.

Filled with rage and grief, Mycroft stood, grimly casting spell after spell as he advanced towards the beast. His life no longer mattered. Greg had given his empty life purpose and meaning. All that he cared about now was destroying the beast that had killed his beloved. It would be a mercy if he died in the process.

\---

Buckingham Palace: (24 April, mid-evening)

Having devoured its flying opponent and run out of moving targets, the dragon readied itself to take flight. It was set to follow the commands placed in its mind: to destroy all that moves, burn the palace to the ground and then turn on the rest of the city, leaving a path of fiery death in its wake. Its great wings extended as it prepared to take to the sky.

Its body suddenly quivered and it threw its head back, roaring in pain. The great beast’s eyes rolled back in its head and it collapsed into its final death throes.  All was quiet for a moment, then a lone figure crawled from its rear.

Wings bedraggled and covered from head-to-toe in blood, gore and worse, Lucifer shook his wings and looked around, hoping no cameras were present to record his less-than-glorious victory. He rose into the sky, diving toward the river to cleanse himself. He couldn’t care less about being naked, but he’d rather go back to Hell than to face the indignity of being seen covered in dragon shit.

\---

8 Canada Square: (24 April, mid-evening)

About halfway down in his fall from the building, John had quit screaming. He wanted to spend his final moments praying for Sherlock, Rosie and the world. Time suddenly seemed to slow to a crawl. He realized he was passing the floors at a much slower rate and his body had stopped tumbling as he fell. Perhaps it was some strange, near death experience, or maybe Mycroft’s spell had sped his perceptions up as well. He wondered if it would seem take him longer to die when he hit the pavement. He considered looking down, but rejected the idea, deciding it better if he didn’t see it coming. He didn’t want to start screaming again. John closed his eyes and resigned himself to death.

Instead of landing in a bloody heap on the ground, he suddenly found himself in someone’s arms. He opened his eyes, expecting to see himself in the arms of Death. Instead he found himself looking into an oddly familiar face. He stared in shock, his brain blank for a moment. Then a name sprang into his mind.

“You… you’re Tom Hiddleston.”

“I get that a lot, but no. Guess again.” Loki’s eyes flashed a bright green as he sighed and sat the man on the ground. “I assume she’s up there?”

“Eurus?”

“What? Do I look like a Greek? Like some petty little wind God?” He stared at the man, slightly affronted. “And after I saved you. Shameful lack of gratitude; so typically mortal.”

“What?” John stared back, so utterly confused that his mind barely registered the pain from his broken wrist.

“Oh, never mind. I can sense her up there. New deities are far too careless to hide their power properly.”

John stared for a moment as the green-cloaked man rose into the sky. Then his brain kicked into gear and he raced up the stairway, praying Sherlock was still alive.

\---

River Thames: (24 April, mid-evening)

Lucifer climbed up the riverbank, dragging the small, limp, nearly furless form of Fenris behind him. He dropped the half-disembowel wolf on the ground and fanned his wings. It might not be the cleanest water, but it was far better than being covered in dragon blood and shit. He poked the still form of the wolf with his toe.

“Are you dead again?”

_“I am in too much pain to be dead. Please push my guts back into my body.”_

“Well then, I’ll leave you to your misery for now.” Lucifer gingerly pushed Fenris’s bowels back inside him and took to the sky, heading towards Whitehall. He sincerely hoped the sorcerer had been able to deal with the dragon. It wasn’t an experience he ever wanted to repeat.

Fenris lay there, slowly healing. He tried to struggle to his feet so he could go to the aid of his pack but he fell back to the ground, hacking up blood and river water. It would be a while before he’d heal enough to be able to move. His small howl of misery sounded more like a whimper.

\---

Chapel Avenue: (24 April, mid-evening)

Mary was on her third zombie body, and had lost her weapon when the second one had been dragged down by the horde. For the first time in her afterlife, she felt tired. Possession took a great deal of energy. She needed to rest, and she felt the Nothingness pulling at her, almost seductively. Controlling the body took greater effort now, and its half-rotted limbs felt heavy and stiff. She glanced at the others, noting the battle was taking a toll on them as well. If she couldn’t kill zombies, perhaps she could help one of the others.

Liam had lost all semblance of control, fighting savagely with tooth and claw. His ability to heal was slowing down, overwhelmed by the number of wounds he’d taken, but his ferocity had increased. He seemed to be in the most need of help, but she doubted he’d recognize her now and she didn’t dare get any closer.

Bran was flying slower, obviously tiring. He fluttered to the top of a nearby lamppost, beak wide and wings outstretched.

_“I must rest a moment, but I will return to the fight as soon as I am able. You too must rest soon, Mary.”_

Unable to speak with the corpse’s shriveled tongue, she waved to him and stepped towards Thomas. The vampire showed no signs of losing strength or of tiredness, but his blade had become dulled and it was often taking him more than one blow to take off a head. Mary lumbered over to him, kicking the feet out from under the nearest zombie before it could reach him and nearly losing her balance in the process. She stumbled back, realizing she was as likely to be a hinderance as a help in her current state.

Things were beginning to look bad as the horde slowly pushed them back down the avenue. Just as she was beginning to wonder exactly how many bodies were buried at City of London cemetery, explosions rang out from the opposite end of the street. She abandoned the body she’d possessed in favor of being able to speak.

“Bran, are you strong enough to fly over and see what’s happening?”

 _“Yes. I will be right back._ ” He took to the sky, returning moments later. _“It is more police warriors, armed with grenades and guns. The zombie’s flesh explodes when they hit them. They are making good progress. If we can hold our position just a little while longer, they will reach us.”_

“Thank God for explosive rounds. Bran, can you see my machete? I can’t do much good without it.”

 _“I will look._ ” He circled over the battlefield, looking down with his sharp black eyes. “ _It is here, but it is under the bodies of the dead and I am too weak to move them. You will have to possess one of those near if you are able.”_

“I think I’ve got at least one more possession left in me. Try to clear a path for me if you can.”

\---

Whitehall, Victoria Tower: (24 April, mid-evening)

“I’ve got you!” Anthea directed her mount to dive, barely managing to grab Greg’s hand as he fell toward the ground. He grasped her hand with his, crying out as a piece of debris passed through her and struck his head, leaving a large gash on his temple. She was struggling to hold him, and he reached up with his other hand, grabbing onto her wrist and praying he didn’t pull her off her mount. He climbed up behind her, wincing in pain as he slung his leg over the horse’s back. Seconds before it hit the ground, the nightmare’s wings caught the air, and it began to rise.

“Thanks for the save, but you gotta get me back up there! If Mycroft thinks I’m dead, there’s no telling what he’ll do. You got anything to fight a dragon with?”

“No, but my cloak shields me and the nightmare from magic. Its fire won’t affect me.”

“Then drop me near him and draw its fire away from us.”

As they reached to top of the tower, they saw the dragon was already completely encased in thick layers of ice. Mycroft was on his knees, less than a meter from it, hands shaking with grief and exhaustion as he raised them for another spell. Anthea landed the nightmare behind him as Greg called out.

“Mycroft! Mycroft, you can stop now! It’s dead!” Greg slid off the nightmare’s back and stumbled over to him, limping badly on what he suspected was a broken leg. He reached out, putting a hand on Mycroft’s shoulder as he fell beside him.

“Greg? Is it really you?” He dropped the diamond and reached out, running his trembling hand gently across his face, as if he had to touch him to believe he was real.

“Yeah. Anthea saved me just in the nick of time.” He glanced over at her as she waved, launching the nightmare back into the air, towards the Thames. She looked in dismay at the city below. She had her work cut out for her. It looked like there were hundreds of fires to put out.

“I thought I’d lost you.” Mycroft wrapped his arms around him, sobbing with relief. Greg was battered, bruised and his silver hair was stained with blood, but he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m okay. I’m here, the dragon’s dead, and we’re both still alive.” He reached up, tracing the streak of white that now ran through Mycroft’s hair. “You did good. Rest now, lover. You’ve done your part.”

Greg touched his lips to his lover’s forehead as Mycroft passed out in his arms, overcome by exhaustion. Then he reached up to his ear, astonished that the comm device was still in place. Ignoring the ache in his leg and the ringing in his head, he called in, checking on the status of the others. Mycroft could rest now, but as Director of Field Ops, his job wasn’t done yet. He still had people in danger.

\---

8 Canada Square: (24 April, mid-evening)

“John!” Sherlock wheeled around as John’s gun clattered to the ground. Even with the speed spell, he was too late, and he watched in horror as Jim Moriarty tossed him off the roof. He raced over, striking a crushing blow to Moriarty’s larynx. It should have incapacitated him or even killed him. Instead, he backhanded Sherlock across the rooftop, sending him flying with inhuman strength. As Sherlock rose, murder in his eyes, Moriarty cleared his throat and laughed.

“She rebuilt me. She has the magic. She made me better than I was. Better, stronger, faster...” He looked at Sherlock and sighed. “Pop culture references really are lost on you, aren’t they?”

“I’m going to kill you.” Sherlock’s voice was deadly calm and matter-of-fact. The doors of his mind palace had slammed shut, cutting off all emotions except one: the cold, implacable need to see John’s killer destroyed. Nothing else mattered in that moment.

“No you’re not”, he replied in a sing-song tone. He grinned maniacally. “But come and try. It’ll be a blast.”

Sherlock knelt into a runner’s stance and sprang, barreling at him, intent on knocking him off the roof, even if he went over with him. He slammed into Moriarty, striking him mid-chest with his shoulder.

It should have sent them both over the edge of the roof, joining John in death on the pavement below. Instead, it was like hitting a brick wall. Sherlock crumpled to the ground, ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder and scrabbled for John’s gun. He brought it up, emptying the rounds into Moriarty.

“Well, that ruined a perfectly good Vivienne Westwood.” He pushed his finger through the hole in his jacket and laughed. “Running out of options, Sherlock? Now that John’s dead, you could always just kill yourself. Why don’t you jump? It’d be just like old times; you and me, coming full circle. So romantic, don’t you think?”

Sherlock crouched on the ground, cradling his shoulder. Dislocated, but not broken. Outwardly still, his mind raced through every scenario, trying to find a way to kill Moriarty.

“No, Jim, I want to _keep_ him.” Eurus stepped over to Sherlock, ruffling his hair. “You always wanted a dog, big brother. Maybe you should _be_ one instead.”

“We do need a pet. We could teach him to fetch and play dead…” Jim grinned indulgently. He really didn’t care that much about Sherlock anymore. He had far bigger plans. With his brilliance combined with his new abilities he could rule the world. On reflection, though, that sounded a bit dull. Maybe he’d just destroy it instead. He heard a strange sound, like heavy cloth flapping in the wind and turned to look. He recognized the face, and he started laughing at the absurdity. “Tom Hiddleston?”

“Well, what a lovely mess you’ve made, little Goddess. Dragons, a city in flames and an army of undead. A bit trite and over-the-top, but then that’s the way with beginners.” Loki rose over the side of the building, cape flaring dramatically in the breeze as he came to a stop, hovering slightly above the rooftop near Eurus and Sherlock. “Always showing off.”

“Who are you? Jim, get rid of him. I don’t like his face.” She couldn’t see him in the pattern. Whoever… whatever he was, he was somehow outside of the pattern. She couldn’t use magic on him if she couldn’t find him in the pattern. She stared at him, trying to understand how it was possible.

“It’s not _my_ face, actually, but I’m starting to like it.” Loki grinned. “You’d be surprised how useful it is for getting a good hotel room.”

“Jim, kill him.” Eurus glared at him in warning. “He’s not in the pattern.”

“Sherlock!” Still under the influence of Mycroft’s spell, John had run up forty-five flights of stairs far faster than any lift could have taken him. Taking advantage of Loki’s distraction, John rushed over to his lover, trying to drag him away from Eurus. “You’re hurt.”

“How are you alive? He threw you off the roof…” The doors which he’d locked his emotions behind cracked open. His expression didn’t change and his voice was almost monotone, but tears flowed down his cheeks.

“You know my methods…” John laughed softly, adrenaline keeping the pain from his wrist at bay for the moment. “He saved me, whoever he is. Now let’s get you out of here.”

“Your wrist is broken.”

“Never mind that. We need to get out of here while they’re distracted.”

“No. I may not be able to stop Moriarty, but I can still stop my sister.” He reached for the handgun strapped to his thigh. “Go, John.”

“I’m not going to leave you. Give me that. Even left-handed, I’m a better shot than you.”

Moriarty’s mind kicked into overdrive. It was only a matter of time until Eurus got bored with him, and this could be his way out. Whoever this man was, if he was outside the pattern, Eurus was helpless against him. What would not-Tom-Hiddleston do if he rushed him? He glanced at Sherlock and John, noting the gun in John’s hand. He quickly calculated several likely scenarios. He couldn’t rule out a magical attack, but a physical response seemed the most probable, especially if the man was distracted by John’s shot. If he came at him at the correct angle, he could use either the man’s attack or his own momentum to carry him off the roof. With his new abilities, he’d most likely survive the fall, and in the unlikely event that she survived, he’d have a built-in excuse.

He rushed at the man just as John fired. As he hoped, the stranger knocked him aside, and he let the momentum of the blow carry him over the roof. His eyes met Sherlock’s and Moriarty laughed as he fell. Things really had come full circle.

“Sorry, Sherlock, but I’m going to have to kill your pet now.” Her voice was calm, but her face was contorted with rage as she stared at the bullet hovering in the air, just in front of her face. She reached for it, intending to turn it and send it back into John’s skull. Deducing her intent, Sherlock threw himself on top of John to shield him.

“No, Sherlock. Bad dog!” She waved her hand, sending Sherlock tumbling away from John and reached towards the bullet again.

“You really need to get your priorities straight, little one.” Loki reached out and grasped her wrist. She screamed in outrage, clawing at his face with her other hand. He grabbed it, holding her with ease as she struggled in his grasp. “It’s never a good idea to ignore the God of Mischief.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” She abruptly stopped struggling and cocked her head, smiling at him. She might not be able to use any magic directly on him, but she could still see the pattern of the world around him. An enormous bolt of lightning shot down from the hazy, smoke-filled night sky, striking Loki on its way to the rooftop beneath him. John cried out, trying to shield his eyes from the blinding brightness. It was so close he could feel his hair, standing on end. Sherlock rose to his feet, making his way back to John and wrapping his good arm around him, pulling him further from the pair.

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding. Lighting? Really?” Loki shook his head, chuckling at the irony. “You remind me of someone…”

Eurus roared with rage and the air around them burst into flame. The heat was so intense the rooftop below Loki began to melt.

“I’m the God of Mischief _and_ Fire, but nice try. This is all very adorable, in its way, but let’s just get this over with.”

“Why won’t you just die! How are you not part of the pattern?”

“That’s a very long story. Let’s settle you down a bit so I can do what must be done.”  Grasping both her wrists in one hand, Loki reached into the pouch that hung on his side and sprinkled a little sand over her. He’d stolen it long ago from Morpheus when the Lord of Dreaming had asked him for a favor, and even a Goddess as powerful as Eurus was helpless to resist it. She struggled to stay awake, but soon went limp in his grasp. “I knew that’d come in handy someday.”

“What will you do with her, Loki?” Sherlock’s face was grim as he stared at the form of his sister. Asleep, she looked small and vulnerable.

“What Destiny has decreed.” He laid her down and knelt beside her, looking up at Sherlock and grinning. “It’s nice to get a little recognition for a change. Who are you?”

“Sherlock Holmes. What has Destiny decreed?”

“I have no idea, but we’re about to find out.” Loki rummaged around inside his pouch, retrieving the vial of lavender-colored liquid. He pulled out the cork and parted her lips, pouring it down her throat. He stood and stepped back, not wanting to be too close to her in case things got messy.

\---

Whitehall, Victoria Tower: (24 April, evening)

“All three dragons are down, sir. SCO19 is backing up the team on Chapel Avenue, and the reports show they seem to be making progress. Anthea’s had good success with fire control, but there’s still a lot left to put out.”

“Anything from Sherlock or John?”

“No sir. We’ve been trying to contact them, but there’s no response.”

“What about Fenris?”

“No response. He was on top of the dragon, then he just disappeared. Do you need evacuating?”

“Yeah, but we’re fine for now. Keep trying to contact Sherlock. As soon as Chapel Avenue is under control, tell Thomas to send Mary to check on Sherlock and John. She can find them. And send Thomas and Liam to search for Fenris if they’re able.”

“Will do.”

Greg leaned against the stonework, trying not to feel helpless. The ache in his leg was getting more intense, and he was worried about Sherlock, John and Fenris. He looked down at his sleeping lover, grateful that he was safe. He heard the sound of wings flapping and reached for his gun, then relaxed as he saw Lucifer landing on the roof beside them.

“Nice job on the dragon. He’s quite good for a beginner, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. You got any idea where Fenris is? Is he still alive?”

“Down by the river, alive and probably regretting it at the moment. He’ll heal, though.”

“Get him back to headquarters, and come back for us, unless someone else needs evac. I’m assuming you lost your comm link along with your clothes?”

“Yes. You people owe me an Armani. You do know it’s a bit presumptuous to give me orders, don’t you?” Lucifer’s lips curled with amusement.

“It’s my job. Here, take Mycroft’s.” Greg handed it to him, wrinkling his nose slightly. “What the hell is that smell?”

“You really don’t want to know.” Lucifer tried, for a moment, to look offended, then gave up with a sigh.

\---

Chapel Avenue: (24 April, evening)

“It looks like the police have things under control. They’ll reach our position soon.” Mary was far too exhausted to possess any more bodies, and the seemingly never-ending tide of undead was finally starting to ebb. “Can you get Liam calmed down? We need to get out of here.”

“I believe so. Comms just sent a message. The dragons are down, but they can’t get through to Sherlock or John. They want you to go check on them.”

“I’ll try, but I have to go through the Nothingness to reach him, and I’m not sure I’ll have the strength to get back out of it for a while. Let them know John’s still alive, though. I wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t.”

“I’ll relay the message. Bran, you look exhausted. Why don’t you go back to headquarters?”

_“I will wait and return with you once you’ve calmed the werewolf. I don’t desert my companions in battle.”_

“Well said, friend.” Thomas approached Liam carefully, speaking softly and using care not to present any threat. “Liam. It’s alright now. You can stop fighting. The police will be here soon, and we need to go. They may not realize you’re on their side…”

Liam growled, his muzzle covered in gore and his eyes wild with blood-lust. He hunched over the half-devoured corpse, snarling and snapping to defend his kill. Thomas stepped back, remembering what Fenris had told him. He didn’t want to do it, but if he had to control Liam to get him out of here, he would do what he had to. Hopefully, the Wolf God would forgive him. He could hear the police, getting close by the minute, and he didn’t want to find out what explosive rounds would do to either of them.

“Liam, listen to my voice…”

\---

8 Canada Square: (24 April, evening)

“Well, that’s not what I expected…” Loki looked down at the small, sleeping child that Eurus had become and shrugged. “A bit anti-climactic really. Apparently, Destiny has plans for her in the future.”

“How long will she be unconscious?” Sherlock knelt beside her, trembling slightly from the effort of locking away the riot of emotions he felt. “What has she become?”

“That was enough sleeping sand to put down a full grown major Goddess, so I’d say at least a day, possibly more. As to what’s happened to her…” Loki knelt beside him, studying her with his bright green eyes. “Most of her power has been locked away. She’ll be able to access it slowly, as her mind matures.”

“But it will return.”

“Eventually.”

“We can’t let that happen”, Sherlock said softly, his eyes darting towards the gun John was still holding.

“Sherlock, what are you thinking? Whatever she was, whatever she might become, she’s just a child now.”

“And is she any different than she once was? She’s a psychopath, John. She’s the same age now as she was when she committed her first murder.”

“People do get second chances, Sherlock. This might be hers.”

“It’s a moot point anyway.” Loki shrugged. “Destiny obviously has a plan for her. I’m sure anything you might attempt to change her fate will come to nothing. I know that all too well.”

“If only I could see her future… Loki, I’m a Seer. Fenris said you might be able to tutor me, so that I’d be able to use that power with more accuracy. Can you?”

“I was really hoping you wouldn’t ask that, but yes. Fenris? Is my son here on Earth?”

“He’s part of my brother’s household… his pack, as Fenris calls it, assuming either of them survived their battles with the dragons.” Sherlock glanced over at John. “I lost my comm-link when Moriarty knocked me across the roof. Yours?”

“I’ve lost mine as well, probably when I fell. By the way, thank you for saving me, Loki.”

“It was part of the deal I made. What is your profession?”

“I’m a doctor. Why do you ask?”

“I have a gift I’m supposed to give you.” Loki smiled. This, at least, would be fun. “You might want to lie down. It’s going to hurt a bit…”

“What kind of gift?”

“Healing. I’m going to bite you, and when you quit screaming, you’ll have the power to heal injuries to yourself and by transference, those of others.”

“Transference?”

“Yes. You’ll absorb their injuries and then heal yourself.” He glanced over at Sherlock, nodding at his shoulder. “Broken?”

“Merely dislocated.”

“Then hold still and I’ll pop it back in. You’re probably going to want to hold him down.” Sherlock’s face contorted in pain as Loki snapped his shoulder back in place. “You may want to sit on him, to keep him from thrashing about too much.”

“Now just hold on a moment… What do you mean, you’re going to bite me?”

“Like this.” Loki transformed into a large snake, about two meters long with dark bronze scales. _“Lie down, human, unless you want to fall down._ ” He coiled himself, preparing to strike.

“Sherlock, should I trust him?” John had never been fond of snakes, and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to accept any gifts from Loki.

“It’s your decision, John, but in all practicality, there’s probably little we could do to stop him. Fenris vouches that he’s not evil, if that’s any consolation.”

“Then let’s just get this over with.” John grimaced as he laid down on the rooftop, closing his eyes as Sherlock straddled him. He felt a quick flash of pain as Loki’s fangs sank into his skin, followed by a burning agony like nothing he’d ever felt. His world narrowed to nothing but pain as he began to scream. After what seemed an eternity, it finally subsided. He blinked, reaching up to wipe the tears from his face.

“Are you alright?” Sherlock was still sitting on him, eyes filled with concern.

“Yeah, I think… My wrist! It’s healed…”

 “John! Oh thank God!” Mary suddenly appeared, rushing over to kneel beside John. “I wasn’t sure I’d make it through. Are you alright?

“I’m fine. What’s happened? Is everyone alive?”

“All three dragons are down, and the zombies are nearly dealt with, but that’s all I know.”

“You look… exhausted.”

“I am. I’ve got to go rest for a while, but I’ll try to contact Greg and let him know you’re alright.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve still got my mobile.” Sherlock pulled it out of his pocket. The screen was cracked, but it was still functional. “Get some rest, Mary.”

“I want to know everyone’s okay first. Then I’ll rest.”

“Lucifer? Why are you answering Mycroft’s mobile?” Sherlock jumped up, pacing as he listened to Lucifer’s reply, but a moment later a look of relief came over his face. “And the others? Good. Yes, we could use your assistance once the others are safe. I imagine Mycroft’s spell is about to wear off..” He suddenly collapsed on the ground. Mary started towards him, but he weakly waved her off. “It’s just the speed spell wearing off. Lucifer says everyone is alive. He’s bringing in Mycroft now… passed out from too many spells. He’s picking up Greg next, and your group is on its way to headquarters. Go rest. I think I’ll do the same…” He dropped his mobile as he passed out.

“Who are you? And who is that?” John had passed out as well, and tired as she was, Mary wasn’t about to leave them with a stranger. She did a double take. He looked familiar… “Aren’t you an actor?”

“No.” He sighed softly, wondering if the face was worth all the explaining that came with it. “I just look like one. I’m the God Loki. I don’t know _her_ name, but she’s the Goddess who caused all the trouble, reduced to a convenient, easy to handle size. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?”

“Swooping in to save the day, apparently, which is very much not my style. I usually only rescue people _after_ I get them into trouble.” He grinned slyly. “I suppose I’ll have to do things the other way round this time… Who are you?”

“Mary Watson. I’m… these two are my family.”

“Yes, I can see you’re linked to the healer.”

“That’s John. He’s… was my husband.”

“And the Seer?”

“He’s John’s fiancée.”

“I’d heard the world had gotten a lot more progressive about that sort of thing.” He stepped over to Sherlock, looking at him speculatively. “Not bad looking, really.”

“Just keep your hands off of him.”

“Pull your claws back in, kitten. He’s not my type. I prefer…” Loki’s voice trailed off and he turned, looking into the sky. “Lucifer”, he sighed, remembering he still owed the Lord of Hell a favor.

\---

Unknown Location, Secret Base: (25 April, pre-dawn)

“You okay, Anthea?” Greg finally allowed himself to relax when the last team member still in the field returned.

“I think so, Sir. I’m still a little high from the morphine… How’s everyone else?”

“A little worse for the wear, but okay. Are all the fires out?”

“Most of them. I’d have done more, but I had to be back before dawn…”

“You did a great job. We all did.”

“And Eurus… Is she in custody?”

“Yeah, kinda.” He gestured at the small form sleeping in a nearby medical bed. “Moriarty’s still out there somewhere, but we’ll get him. Lay back down before you fall down.”

“Greg?” Mycroft sat up, looking around in confusion.

“I’m right here, lover.” Greg stepped over, still amazed at John’s new healing ability. His leg wasn’t even sore.

“Is everyone alright? What happened?”

“Yeah, the whole team’s okay, the dragons are dead, and we’ve got Eurus. You feel okay?”

“Starving, but fine otherwise. Eurus… where is she?”

“Over there.” He pushed Mycroft back down as he tried to rise. “She’s gonna be out for a while. I’ve sent Anderson and Craig out for some food. You stay right there, and I’ll get you caught up on what’s happened…

\---


	20. Aftermath

London: (25 April)

Over 2,000 people had died in the attack, a number that obviously would have been substantially higher without the team. There had been a great deal of property damage; Westminster bridge would need extensive rebuilding, Whitehall and Buckingham Palace had been heavily damaged, and a number of buildings, both public and private had suffered greatly from the fires. While there had been some rioting and panic, for the most part, the people of London had come together in the aftermath of the tragedy; cleaning up debris, mourning the dead, dealing with the new reality of magic, and celebrating their newest heroes.

There had been, as expected, a great deal of publicity about their role in defending the city from the attack. From the news report of the battle against the zombies to the CCTV footage of Mycroft defeating a dragon with magic, nearly everyone in their group was being hailed as the heroes of London. Even John and Sherlock’s roles had been somewhat uncovered; street level footage had captured Loki’s miraculous rescue of John and Moriarty’s subsequent escape.

Thomas had done an admirable job of being the spokesman for the group, charming the press while presenting the official story, which had placed the blame on Moriarty, reducing Eurus’s role to that of an unknown entity, now destroyed, that had summoned the dragons on Moriarty’s behalf. He had also, on Mycroft’s orders, subtly hinted their agency had governmental approval without saying it outright, leaving the government little choice but to officially embrace them.

Their sudden fame had all identifiable parties in hiding at Mycroft and Greg’s home; the only refuge the mobs of people and press couldn’t infiltrate.

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s House, Mycroft’s study: (25 April, late afternoon)

“What are we going to do with her? Can you _see_ anything of use?” Mycroft sipped his tea and tried to ignore his younger brother’s restless pacing.

“It may be that John is right; that this is a second chance for her.”

“Is that the Seer speaking or is that familial sentiment?

“I don’t know. That’s my whole problem with this Seer business. Loki’s agreed to teach me how to use it, but until then, all I have are vague impressions. How can I possibly sort out what is true from what I wish to be true?” Sherlock sighed and flung himself into the chair, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s all too emotionally based for me to make any useful conclusion.”

“You’ve acted on intuition before.”

“It’s not the same, and you know it. Intuition is acting consciously on what the subconscious mind perceives. Being a Seer is entirely different.” He snorted softly with contempt. “Until I understand how to distinguish fact from fantasy, it’s worse than useless.”

“Fantasy or not, it’s all we have to go on. Settle your mind, contain your emotions, and give me your impression.”

“No it isn’t.” Sherlock sat up, a look of inspiration in his eyes. “We have someone here who can sense her intentions far better that I.”

“Who? Lucifer?”

“No. He only senses guilt, something a true psychopath has none of. He might be of use in finding out her greatest desire, but she may be able to resist answering. We’d never know if her answer was truth or not. But there is a way of determining her _intentions_ … _Think_ , brother dear.”

“The fairies.”

“Exactly. If she harbors any ill intentions, then child or not, they’ll immediately become hostile towards her.”

“If they should prove hostile, we can send her back to Sherrinford. There are some treatments for psychopathic youth that have shown some small degree of promise, and perhaps we’ll find some magical means of helping her.”

“And if they’re not hostile, what will you do with her? We can’t give her back to our parents to raise.”

“Obviously. I’ll raise her here.”

“Do you think you’re capable of that? Young children need a great deal of attention, and while her powers may have been greatly lessened, she will have some abilities. Are you truly willing to commit yourself to that?”

“Can you suggest a better alternative?”

“No. Have you spoken to Greg about this?”

“Yes, and though he has some very reasonable reservations, given her history, he’s in agreement with me. If we can safely do so, we’ll care for her together. He’s always wanted children.” He smiled gently, thinking of the affection Greg had shown Alice. “He’s quite good with them. He’ll make an excellent father.”

“And now you’ll have three. Do you think _you’ll_ make a good father?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“True. Doesn’t it… worry you? Aside from her being a potentially psychopathic miniature Goddess, I mean.”

“Fatherhood? Yes, I suppose it does, a bit”, he admitted. “I do still struggle with feeling things at times, but then I remember I’m not alone anymore. Greg is very… comforting.”

“You really have changed, Mycroft.”

“And you haven’t?” He raised one eyebrow at his brother.

“I suppose we are _both_ a bit… saner.” He smiled at his brother. “As you said, caring may be the sanest course…”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, guest bedroom: (25 April, late afternoon)

John woke, alone in a strange bed and unsure for a moment where he was. Then everything came rushing back in an instant; the attack on London, the confrontation with Eurus and Moriarty, Loki saving him when he’d been thrown from the roof, the powers he’d been given and the pain it had caused, healing Greg’s broken leg… the last thing he clearly remembered was passing out at headquarters. He looked around, eventually guessing from the furnishings that he must be at Mycroft’s.

His clothes were clean, neatly hung and waiting for him, and his mobile, watch and other possessions were sitting on the bedside table. He dressed and sat down on the bed, looking at the alarming number of missed calls and texts he’d received. The greatest number of them were from news media or unknown numbers. Ignoring those, he quickly texted back to Harry and his friends, letting them know he was alright, then headed downstairs, in search of Sherlock and a meal, not necessarily in that order. He was starving.

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s House, Backyard: (25 April, late afternoon)

 _“I have been looking for you, young one._ ” After he’d healed and devoured a great deal of meat and mead, Fenris had gone looking for Liam. He’d finally found him sitting on a bench in the garden, watching Alice as she played with the fairies. _“I am Fenris Lokison, God of Wolves and member of the pack of Mycroft.”_

“I know who you are.” Liam felt the wolf inside himself stirring, wanting to show submission to the Wolf God. He pushed the urge down under a tide of self-hatred and revulsion at what he’d become. He’d lost control last night, but he remembered every moment in horrific detail.

_“Thomas said you need my aid in learning to control your change.”_

“Can you make me human again?”

_“No. Why would you want to forsake such a gift?”_

“Gift? It’s a curse! The things I’ve done…” Liam turned pale and shuddered. He would have thrown-up if he hadn’t already done so, several times.

 _“I was told you fought bravely and saved many humans by defeating so many zombies. Why do you find shame in that?”_ Genuinely puzzled, Fenris shifted to human form and sat beside him.

“Until I lost it. I fucking ate the bodies…” He clutched at his belly, stomach churning with the memory as he fought off another round of dry-heaving. “If Thomas hadn’t been able to get me under control, I’d have attacked the police. I almost bit him…”

“There is no reason for shame. You are young yet, and have much to learn.”

“No reason for shame? I ate people! I’m a monster.”

“No, you are a werewolf, and it was your first battle. You were wounded and needed to feed to heal. It is only natural the blood-lust would take you over in a battle like that. You can learn control but not if you don’t accept the fact that you are a werewolf now and not a human anymore.”

“After what I’ve done, how can I accept it?”

“What have you done that is so terrible?”

“I threw up fucking _fingers_ this morning. I’m a bloody monster.”

“You are a werewolf and you acted as a young one does when the blood-lust comes over him. Your instincts overwhelmed your mind. This is a thing you can learn to control, if you can accept what you are.”

“I don’t know if I can. I just want a normal life, with friends, a girlfriend, maybe fall in love and have a family one day… But I can’t have those things, can I? Who would want to love a monster?”

“You are the only one of your kind right now and it makes you feel alone. I know what that is like. I am the only one like me that will ever be and I have done things that even the Gods called monstrous. But I am not a monster and neither are you. I have found a pack to be part of and humans that trust and care about me. You can do the same, but you must learn to trust and care about yourself. You must learn to love what you are. Think on these things and if you want to learn, seek me out when the sun leaves the sky and I will teach you.” Fenris slipped back into wolf form, leaving Liam to think over what he’d said.

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s House, kitchen: (25 April, late afternoon)

‘Yeah, I’m putting in my resignation on Monday, along with a recommendation for your promotion.” Greg balanced the mobile on his shoulder while he loaded the latest delivery of mead, meat and other essentials into the refrigerator. He grinned, thinking that feeding Gods was an expensive proposition. “You deserve it. You did a hell of a job, gettin’ everybody organized like you did.”

“I don’t want a promotion if it means you’re leaving, boss.” Sally sighed unhappily. “Things won’t be the same without you.”

“I’ll still be workin’ with you a lot. It’ll take the department a while to sort if out officially, but I’m sure I’ll end up the official liaison between us and the Yard.”

“I saw the footage of you, facing that dragon. I don’t think I could ever be that brave. How did you survive that fall?”

“A beautiful woman on a flying horse caught me.” Greg chuckled, picturing the look on Donovan’s face. “I’ll tell you all about it over drinks someday. Look, I gotta go. We got a house full of refugees from the press right now. I’ll call you later, when things settle down.” He put his mobile aside, turning the ringer off for a while since he’d already talked to Tim and his father, who were on their way back from Cadiz.

 _“Is there more mead now, Greg?”_ Fenris came bounding in from the garden, looking hopefully at him as he wagged his tail.

“Yeah. Between you and your Dad, we’re gonna end up buying every bottle in England.” He opened a couple of bottles and filled Fenris’s water dish. “You find Liam?”

_“Yes. Thomas is right to be worried for him, but I can help him if he lets me. He feels alone. Do you know the female he likes? Perhaps she could help him as well.”_

“I kinda think I know who it is. I’ll give her a call. Mycroft wants to talk to everybody later anyway.” He knelt beside Fenris, giving his ears an affectionate ruffle. “You did good last night.”

 _“So did you and Mycroft. For a God to kill a dragon is one thing, but for humans to do so is a very great deed. I am proud to be part of your pack._ ” He lifted his head, licking Greg on the nose before going back to his mead.

“Yeah, well, we’re proud to have you. But Mycroft should get all the credit. All I did was wave my arms around and fall off a building.”

_“You are still very brave. You faced a dragon without magic. We have a strong pack.”_

“Yeah, that we do.” Greg stood, smiling as Mycroft walked into the kitchen. “Hungry, lover?”

“Very. I think I’ve not yet caught up with all the magic I used last night.”

“What do you want? I could make you an omelet, or a sandwich, or we might have some leftover take-away…”

“A sandwich would be fine, but I am capable of making it myself, you know.”

“I _like_ taking care of you.” Greg grinned, unable to resist running his hand through the shock of white now running through his lover’s hair.

“Is it… terribly unattractive?” Mycroft had been more than a little dismayed when he’d looked in the mirror that morning. There was a streak of pure white marking the dark ginger above his left temple.

“I think it’s sexy, and if we didn’t have a house full of people to feed and things to do, I’d take you upstairs and show you how sexy I think it is.” He started making the sandwich, deciding he’d have one as well.

 _“Greetings Mycroft._ ” Having finished his bowl of mead, Fenris padded over and jumped up, placing his front paws on the bar so he could reach over and lick Mycroft’s nose. _“I am very proud to be the pack mate of such a mighty sorcerer.”_

“I…” Mycroft froze with surprise for a moment, watching Greg try not to laugh in the background. “Thank you Fenris. I’m… proud to have you as a part of our family. It’s good to see you’ve recovered from your injuries.”

 _“Gods heal quickly. I am going to find my father now._ ” He nuzzled Mycroft again and left in search of Loki.

“That’s going to take some getting used to.” Mycroft reached up, wiping the dampness off his nose. “He’s very… demonstrative.”

“Yeah.” Greg looked at him curiously. “Does it bother you? I could have a little talk with him if it does.”

“Oddly enough, no. I find myself strangely attached to him since we’ve bonded. I genuinely do consider him part of the family now. I suppose it’s due to the magic involved in bonding with him. The idea that my emotions may have been manipulated magically really should disturb me a great deal more than it does. Perhaps it’s because it’s mutual.”

“I feel the same about him.” Greg sat the plates down along with a couple of glasses of juice and took a seat beside Mycroft. “I never really thought about the magic part. It just seems… natural to have him with us. Like he belongs with us.”

“Yes, it does. And he is quite useful to have around. One does pity the intruder that gets past my security team with him about the place.”

“Yeah, especially since we got the supernatural to worry about these days. With his senses, not much is gonna get past him. You know, he really is protective of you. Even as wounded as he was, he insisted on being right next to you when you were unconscious back at HQ. Magic bond or not, he loves us, Mycroft.”

“I know.” He took a sip of his juice, thinking about the word love and how its meaning had changed for him. “I _love_ you, Greg.” It felt strange and liberating to be able to say it without any old emotional baggage attached. “It feels very good to be able to say it.”

“I love you, too.” Greg gave in to temptation and leaned over to kiss his cheek. He’d never doubted Mycroft’s love, even when he couldn’t say it. It was just nice to hear, because it meant his lover had regained something precious that the pain of his past had taken from him.

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, guest bedroom: (25 April, late afternoon)

“Sherlock, I’m ravished.” John laughed, giving a half-hearted protest. His lover had way-laid him on his way down to the kitchen, wrapped his arms around him, and dragged him back into the bedroom.

“Not yet, you’re not.” He leered wolfishly. “But you’re about to be.”

“I absolutely refuse to put out until you feed me.” He bit back a smile, crossing his arms and trying to look stern.

“Then get naked, and I’ll bring you something up.”

“Why are we here and not at home?”

“We’re hiding from the press.” Sherlock grinned and grabbed John’s mobile. “You’re on Twitter again.”

“Me? What… Oh, dear lord.” He looked at a still picture, somewhat grainy but still undeniably him, caught in the arms of, according to Twitter, Tom Hiddleston. John winced. “Hashtag love triangle? Seriously? With all that happened last night, _this_ is what makes Twitter?”

“We have fans, John. Apparently ones with very over-active imaginations.”

“They’re not the only ones with over-active imaginations.” He grumbled slightly, pushing Sherlock’s hand away from the crotch of his trousers. “I really am starving.”

“I’ll be right back with a tray.”

“Sherlock, wait. I need to know what happened. Were many people killed? Is the team alright? I remember something about Anthea not being back… And what about Mary? Has she returned yet? And Rosie and the others; are they coming home soon? What happened with Eurus and Moriarty?”

“Everyone on the team’s fine. Anthea returned just before dawn. Bran says Mary’s likely to be back by tonight. She just needs to recharge her energy. Rosie and the girls are on their way home; they’ll be back this evening. Eurus is still unconscious, and there’s been no sightings of Moriarty as of yet. Here…” He found the video of Thomas’s news conference on John’s mobile. “Watch this, and I’ll be right back. And do get naked, John. I _need_ you.”

He did need the comfort of John’s touch. He’d thought he’d lost him last night when he’d seen him go over the rooftop, and only the feeling of John’s skin against his would quiet the almost overwhelming the storm of emotions he still felt from the pain of that moment.

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, lounge: (25 April, late afternoon)

“Loki.”

“Lucifer.”

The two eyed each other warily from across the lounge. They had an uneasy history and a deep, mutual distrust of each other. There was also a large degree of attraction between them that they were both far too proud to acknowledge.

“Why am I not surprised to see you? It makes me wonder who could have possibly started all this mess in the first place.” Lucifer raised one eyebrow, sipping another glass of wine from his host’s excellent but rapidly diminishing collection.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you could be implying. I am, after all, the one who really saved the city. I took the new Goddess down. All you did was defeat one little dragon.” Loki looked as innocent as he possibly could, which was no easy feat for the Trickster God.

“You have a habit of only helping others get out of trouble that you’ve caused”, Lucifer observed drily.

“And you have a history of not being helpful at all. Yet, here we are.” Loki shrugged casually, taking a long drink of mead. “Why _are_ you here? Trying to seduce someone?”

“I’m hardly lacking in that department, Loki. Since I’m living on Earth these days, it’s in my best interest to teach these humans how to deal with magic so I don’t have to.” He poured himself another glass of wine, and looked pointedly at Loki. “It does beg the question as to why you are here. It seems your timing was very… timely.”

“I’m here to see my son. He’s managed to become part of quite an interesting household.” Loki grinned slyly. He’d found the silver-haired Greg to be quite to his particular taste.

“Yes, your concern for your offspring is legendary.” Lucifer managed, just barely, to avoid rolling his eyes.

“And to tutor some mortal Seer. My last little errand for Destiny, then I’m finally free to make my own future, unlike some others I might mention…” Loki raised an eyebrow, looking curiously at Lucifer as his little jibe at the King of Hell’s on-going struggle between free-will and Destiny went unaddressed.

“Seer? What Seer?” Lucifer seemed a bit too deliberately casual.

“I think his name’s Sherlock…” Loki watched Lucifer’s eyes narrow, ever so slightly. This was getting rather interesting. “Very nice looking, actually. I imagine I’ll be seeing quite a bit of him.”

“Is he?” Lucifer’s smile was more akin to a wolf baring its fangs.

“Quite. Not my usual type, but I suppose I might make an exception…” Loki grinned, throwing down the metaphorical gauntlet. Lucifer wanted this mortal and obviously hadn’t had him yet. Challenges always made life more interesting for the God of Mischief.

“Good luck with that, Loki.”

A war had just been silently declared.

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, guest bedroom: (25 April, late afternoon)

“Have you eaten?” John looked up from the large tray of assorted food Sherlock had brought. Sickened though he was by the death toll and destruction of last night’s attack, between the speed spell and the healing, his stomach still demanded food. Sherlock merely nodded and John looked at him suspiciously.

“Truly, I did. It seems using that speed spell uses a lot of energy. I imagine the healing thing does as well. Loki’s gifts seem to come at a high price”, he said softly. Seeing John suffer was almost more than he could bear.

“Yeah. How’s Greg’s leg this morning? Is it fully healed?”

“Not even a trace of a limp. He’s in the kitchen, fussing over Mycroft.”

“Good. Is Loki still around? I want to ask him some questions about my healing powers.”

“As do I. He’s downstairs, but there’ll be plenty of time for that later. Since he’s agreed to tutor me as a Seer, I imagine we’ll be seeing quite a bit of him.”

“You don’t look very happy about that. I thought you were eager to learn everything you could about being a Seer.”

“I don’t like this healing power he gave you.” His brow furrowed. “Every time you use it, it’s going to cause you pain.”

“I’m just glad to finally have some useful ability. I _like_ healing people. It’s why I became a doctor in the first place. Now I can finally do some good as a member of this team. If it comes with a little pain, so be it.” Being the only one without some useful magical ability had bothered John a lot more than he’d let on.

“Still… I don’t trust him, John, and I’d hope you’ll use that ability very sparingly until we understand more about it, and about his motives. I know that Destiny had some hand in his arrival, but there’s still something… unsettling about the timing of it.”

“Do you think he had something to do with Eurus discovering magic?”

“It’s definitely a possibility to consider. I’m planning on having a conversation with Lucifer about him.”

“Do you trust him any more than Loki?”

“Yes, to a point. He’s been quite helpful. Disconcerting though it may be, he’s been very up-front about what he wants from me. Loki’s motives are far less clear.”

“Yeah, well, it makes me uncomfortable as well. Helpful or not, he is the Devil and one of these days I’m afraid he’ll maneuver you into a position where you won’t be able to turn him down.”

“He already has, in a way. Without his assistance last night, we’d have had to depend on Loki to take down the third dragon. Can you imagine the destruction it would have caused if he’d refused? Neither Mycroft or Fenris were in any condition to take it down and they’re the only team members with the level of power needed to take one on. What will we do if there’s a similar emergency? Lucifer made his terms for giving me another feather quite clear.”

“Are you actually considering that?” John dropped his fork, staring at Sherlock in shock.

“No.” His fingers drummed restlessly on bed where he sat beside John. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Sherlock, you can’t. I won’t let you be… blackmailed into something like that. It’s absolutely unthinkable.”

“It isn’t. John, I don’t ever want anyone but you, a point I think I’ve been very clear about, but there’s far more to consider here than my own feelings on the matter. He’s by far the most powerful being we’re likely to encounter in this realm or any other. Having the ability to summon him instantly to our aid is an advantage we may not be able to afford to refuse. Can I really be so selfish as to put my own discomfort at the idea above the lives of others?”

“I… I just know the pain I saw in your eyes on the plane when you talked about how kissing him made you feel. I don’t think it’s fair to put you in the position that you feel like you have to… to have sex with someone.”

“Mycroft seems to have dealt with it well enough. Wasn’t he in a similar position with Fenris?”

“You’re not Mycroft. I don’t know what kind of… of trauma you went through to make you decide to use such extreme methods force yourself to become celibate all those years, but…”

“It wasn’t _my_ trauma.” Sherlock cut John’s words off sharply. “That’s my point in making the comparison. Mycroft’s the one who went through the trauma. My own response to seeing what he went through was a conscientious decision I made. I was determined that I’d never make the mistakes he did, and in the process managed to traumatize myself. If he can find the courage to overcome the very real damage someone else did to him, surely I should be able to overcome the damage I did to myself. Is my brother really that much braver than I am?”

“I… I don’t know what to say. I just know that I love you too much to let you do something that would hurt you.”

“Like healing someone’s broken leg by taking the pain into yourself?”

“It’s not the same thing at all.”

“Isn’t it? You’re perfectly willing to go through physical agony to spare someone else. You didn’t even hesitate when you realized he was injured. Is it really that different from going through emotional pain to help others?”

“I…” John set his tray aside and pulled him into his arms. “I can’t imagine what this must be like for you. If you really feel like this is something you have to do, I’ll stand by your decision, but I want you to think about it first. Don’t compare your situation or your courage to your brother’s.”

“Make love to me John. When I’m in your arms, it all goes away.” He leaned closer, his breath tickling John’s neck. “I _need_ it all to go away, just for a little while.”

“Lock the door. I don’t want anyone walking in on us.” John slipped off his clothes as Sherlock undressed and slipped into bed beside him. “Do we have any lube?”

Sherlock dug through his coat pocket and pulled out a bottle, grinning as he handed it to John.

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, study: (25 April, early evening)

“I want a word with you. Alone.” John glared at Lucifer, trying to remind himself that no matter how much he wanted to, punching the Devil in the face might be a very bad idea indeed.

“Certainly, Doctor.” Lucifer rose gracefully from his chair in the lounge, slightly amused and wondering why John was so angry with him. He followed John into Mycroft’s study, availing himself of a glass of brandy as John shut the door behind them.

“It’s blackmail, and I won’t have it”, John snarled.

“Blackmail? What are you talking about? I haven’t blackmailed anyone… not recently, anyway.”

“This feather for a three-way business. Using that to guilt him into it; it’s not much better than rape, if you ask me.”

“What? How dare you?” Lucifer set his glass down and stepped very close to John, his temper showing in the red flash of his eyes. His anger was a palatable force, as if the very air pressure had changed. “I’ve existed since the very beginning of time and not once have I ever forced myself on someone.”

“Just keep your hands off of him.” John found himself stepping back, despite his determination to stand his ground. It took a great deal of effort to hide his fear. Lucifer followed, until John found himself backed against the door.

“If he desires me, why should I? Why all this anger, John? I’ve hardly said two words to him since he summoned me. I just sacrificed a good deal of my dignity to help save your city. Is this how you show your gratitude?”

“And that’s exactly why it’s blackmail. If he doesn’t, and people die because he can’t call on you, who do you think he’ll blame? I’m sure to you it’s just a bit of fun, but you either don’t care or don’t understand how difficult this sort of thing is for him.”

“I understand better than you know. I think it’s you who doesn’t understand. You think you’re protecting him from me, but what you’re really doing is protecting him from himself. Somewhere along the line, feeling sexual attraction for someone made him feel guilty, and I think we both know where guilt leads, don’t we? Did it ever occur to you to wonder where the road you’re paving with all your good intentions leads?”

“Are you trying claim he’s going to Hell?”

“When I kissed him, he felt desire. Have you ever asked yourself what I felt?”

“This is a trick. This is some sort of trick to manipulate me into helping you talk him into it.”

“I felt his guilt, John.”

“I… Do you seriously think I’d believe you? You’re not trying to help him. You just want him, and you can’t stand being told no, can you?”

“I _never_ lie. Do I desire him? Yes, but I want a lot of people. I even desire _you_. So what? Do you think mere sexual desire would induce me to do all I’ve already done for him? I’ve made his brother the most powerful sorcerer in the world, answered all his questions regardless of his appalling lack of timing, and taken on a dragon in the most humiliating battle of my life. Do you really think I did all that just to get laid?”

“Then why? Why would you do all that?”

“Because I don’t want him in Hell, and if he died right now, that’s exactly where he’d end up.”

“And you think having it on with you will fix that, do you?”

“I think it would help.”

“How? How would having sex with the Devil possibly help keep him out of Hell?”

“I wasn’t always the Devil, John.” Lucifer’s pure white wings sprang from his back, a shimmering reminder of what he once was. He wrapped them around them both, engulfing John in a sea of pure white, then gently tugged out a pin feather and handed it to him. “Here. Now there’s no need to call it blackmail. You and I can set him free together. That’ll have to grow back before I can fly properly, so you’ve got three days to decide. I’m not flying commercial. It’s abysmal. All you have to do is ask me a favor. Ask me to help him. You already know what I want in return.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, kitchen: (25 April, early evening)

“Greg said you wanted to talk to me about Liam?” Molly sat her handbag on the bar, looking at Fenris curiously. Despite his incredible power and his eerie eyes, she didn’t find him intimidating. She smiled slightly, remembering how he’d ignored his own wounds to watch over Mycroft when he’d been unconscious.

“Do you wish to be his mate?”

“His mate?” Molly blushed a bright red. “Look, I like Liam a lot, but we haven’t even had a date yet. We’re nowhere near the mating stage.”

“A date… Is that part of human mating rituals?”

“It’s not…” Molly sighed, more than a bit flustered over the prospect of trying to explain dating to the God of Wolves. “When two people like each other, they usually date… go places together, have dinner, get to know each other first. If things work out, it turns into a relationship, and then there’s… mating.”

“That sounds very complicated. I was hoping you could help him. He is afraid he will be alone, and never be part of a pack. To be alone is the worst thing that could happen to a wolf or a werewolf. He may be the only werewolf there is right now and he has been human a long time, so human ways are all he knows. He needs to be part of a pack. Would you date a werewolf or would you only date a human?”

“He asked me if I’d go out with him sometime and I said yes. I’ll admit he seemed scary at first, but he seems really very… gentle and sweet.”

“I think this too. It will be hard for him. Werewolves can also be very fierce. I think he is afraid of that side of himself. He says he is a monster because he lost control last night but if he stays afraid he will never learn control. A werewolf’s anger is a powerful weapon but only if he can channel it.”

“I know when he came in, he seemed upset. What do you mean by losing control?”

“He is young and was in his first fight. He was hurt and so his instincts took over. It takes time and acceptance before a werewolf can control his instincts when he is threatened like that. He needed meat to heal so he ate. I don’t understand why he’s so upset about it since they were already dead but humans are strange like that.”

“Oh God… No wonder he’s so upset.” Revolting as it was, Molly’s heart went out to Liam. A gentle man like him would take that very hard.

“Does knowing this change things? Do you think he is a monster now?”

“No, I don’t.” There was no hesitation in her answer.

“I am not asking you to mate with him. He doesn’t have enough control for that yet and he would hurt you no matter how hard he tried not to. But I think he needs to feel hope. If he feels hope, maybe he will let me help him. Maybe if he hears you know what he did and still don’t think he’s a monster it will help. Will you try to give him hope?”

“I… I’ll do what I can.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, study: (25 April, early evening)

“I’m Peter Lestrade. I guess you must the man my son’s so set on marrying.” Peter stared at Mycroft as he rose from behind the desk in his study. He didn’t quite fit the picture he’d drawn in his mind. There was a sense of quiet power about the man. Despite his, in Peter’s opinion, overly-fastidious clothing, and the friendly smile he gave, he was far more intimidating and much less effeminate than he’d imagined.

“Mycroft Holmes. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He reached out to shake his future father-in-law’s hand, returning Peter’s firm grip, knowing the man was sizing him up. “Please, have a seat. Can I offer you a drink?”

“Yeah, anything as long as it’s not wine. Can’t stand the stuff.”  He took the proffered glass of brandy, sipping it before setting it aside and looking searchingly at Mycroft. “I’d ask what you’ve done to make you think you’re good enough for my son, but I suppose dragon-slaying ought to count for something.”

“If I am in any way worthy of him, it’s because he’s made me a better person.”

“And have you made _him_ a better person?” Peter asked sharply.

“Better? He was already the best man I’ve ever known. I do, however, think I’ve had the honor of making him happier.”

“You’re a good one with the words; I’ll give you that. I’m just gonna say right out that I don’t approve of all this… gay stuff. I don’t understand why a man who likes women like he does would choose to be with a man, but I suppose as far as these things go, he could of done worse.” It was as close to approving of Greg’s choice as he could come.

“Thank you. I respect your honesty, Mr. Lestrade.”

“You might as well call me Peter, since he’s so determined to make you one of the family. What about you? Are you one of these bi people or are you a gay?”

“I’m gay.”

“Never been one for the women, huh? What is it about my son that made you decide to be with him? I imagine a rich fellow like you could get himself one of those young ones.”

“Although I do find Greg quite handsome, it’s his character and his… kindness that drew me to him. He’s quite simply the most decent, honest man I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing.”

“Known a lot of them, have you?”

“If you're inquiring as to romantic entanglements, no. Most of my life has been dedicated to my career. I was quite resigned to spending my life entirely alone until Greg came into my life.”

“Hm. What about my grandson? Do you think this is a good influence on him, being around the two of you and all this… magic stuff?”

“I don’t think any child could have a better role model than Greg. As to magic… It’s going to be everywhere soon. He’s probably safer here than anywhere in England. My own abilities aside, I’m sure you know by now that Fenris is far more than the family dog. He sees Tim as part of the family; his pack, as he calls it. He’s very loyal, and very protective of him.”

“All this wizard business… Does that mean you worship the Devil?”

“No, Peter. It’s not a religious practice. I’m still trying to discover the rules that govern it, but I think of it more as a new type of science.”

“Well then.” Peter polished off his brandy and sat the glass back down. “I suppose I should go find my son. He told me he doesn’t want me wandering around the place. You two got something to hide?”

“No. We have a number of unusual guests at the moment due to all the press. Some of them are from other realms and may not seem quite… normal. I’d assume he doesn’t want to give you the impression that this is the usual for our household. Outside of dealing with magic, we generally lead a very quiet life.”

“Yeah, that’s what Greg told me.” He stopped at the door, turning to Mycroft. “Do you love him?”

“Yes, very much so.”

“Well then, that’s something, I suppose.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, garden: (25 April, early evening)

“Liam?” Molly found him sitting on a stone bench in the garden, watching the setting sun. “Can I sit with you?”

“I… I don’t think you’d want to. Not if you knew what I did. I’m sorry. I never should have asked you out like that. I don’t have the right.”

“I know what happened. Fenris told me.” She sat beside him, quietly reaching out to take his hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m a monster.” He pulled his hand away. “I didn’t know. I thought it was all just running under the moon and having fun, but it’s not. If Thomas hadn’t been able to get me under control, I’d have done a lot worse. He’s my best friend, and I almost turned on him, even after all he’s done for me.”

“Fenris said you can learn control. None of us know what we’ll do in extreme circumstances. I’ve seen real monsters, Liam. You’re not one of them.”

“But what if I never learn to control it? What if I hurt or even kill someone?”

“What about all the people you helped save? Do you really think the team could have stopped them if you hadn’t been there to help? I heard Thomas talking about it. If you hadn’t been there, how many of those things would have gotten past him and the others? Right now, while we’re sitting here, someone else in this city is alive to see this sunset because _you_ were there. Please don’t give up hope, Liam. If not for your sake, or mine, then for all the people you’ll save in the future. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you, but I have faith in you.”

“You do? Why?”

“Because I think, werewolf or not, you’re a good man.”

“I’m _not_ a man. I can’t even…”

“Can’t what?”

“I can’t even make love without changing.” His cheeks flushed red as he remembered his encounter with Thomas, and he hung his head, unable to even look at Molly.

“Then _learn_ to control it. Liam, I… I really do like you a lot. I’d sort of given up hope myself, that I’d meet someone nice, and then you came along. I’m not going to quit believing in you, and I’m not going to let you quit either.” She reached over, taking his hand again and looking at him with determination. “You still owe me a date.”

“You’d really go out with me, knowing what you do about me? About what I did?”

“I have faith in you.” She shyly kissed him on the cheek. “Now go find Fenris, and let him teach you how to have faith in yourself.”

\--

Mycroft and Greg’s house, guest bedroom: (25 April, early evening)

“John?” Sherlock sat up, wondering what time it was. He glanced out the window, noting the sun was going down. He’d slept several hours. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You needed the sleep.” John smiled gently, sitting down on the bed beside him. “Did you even sleep at all, after last night?”

“I may have drifted off a bit, after I got you tucked in…”

“So, no, not really then.” John sighed softly. “You do need to sleep occasionally, you know. The girls are back, by the way, and so is Mary. They’re settling into one of the spare rooms.”

“That’s good. Is Mary alright?” His eyes widened as John reached inside his jacket and pulled out a long, gleaming white feather, setting it on the bedside table. “How did you get that?”

“Mary’s fine. I had a little chat with Lucifer, and he gave it to me.”

“What have you done? Do you own him a favor now?”

“No. I accused him of blackmail and he just gave it to me, but… Sherlock, we need to talk.”

“About what?”

“Do you believe that he can’t lie?”

“Yes. I believe he can deceive by not telling the whole truth or by allowing people to make their own assumptions, but he can’t lie directly.”

“Then there’s something I need to know, and I know you; you’re not going to want to talk about it.”

“What?”

“You said you saw the trauma that Mycroft went through and that’s why you… why you deliberately chose to train yourself to never feel desire; why you hurt yourself the way you did. Is that the whole truth?”

“It’s… the pertinent facts.”

“Then there _is_ something that you’re not telling me.”

“Why are you even asking about this?”

“Because Lucifer says you’re going to Hell. If you died right now, that’s exactly where you’d end up. He claims that’s why he’s been so keen on getting you in bed; that he can help you get over whatever guilt you feel about it. If all that was caused by something that happened to Mycroft, why do _you_ feel guilty?”

“I… It’s not my secret to tell, John.”

“Do I have to ask Mycroft, then? Because God help me, I’m perfectly prepared to march right downstairs and ask him what happened…”

“Don’t! Please, he… he doesn’t know.”

“Doesn’t know what?”

“That day, that last, terrible day… I followed him. I saw something; something that I could have stopped and didn’t. John, please. I really don’t want to talk about this.”

“And I don’t want you to end up going to Hell. So either you’re going to tell me what happened, Mycroft is, or I’m going to drag Lucifer in here right this bloody minute.”

“Really, John, I don’t know why you’re so worried about it. It’s probably going to be years before I die.”

“You could have died last night. I almost died last night. With all this magic we’ll be dealing with, and Moriarty still running loose, that’s not a chance I’m willing to take. So which will it be? You have three options.”

“I don’t see how talking about it’s going to change anything. What’s done is done. It is what it is.”

“They say confession is good for the soul.”

“And who are _they_ , exactly? I recall a certain serial killer who said the same thing…”

“You have three days to decide.”

“Why three days?”

“Because that’s how long it takes Lucifer to grow that feather back, and apparently he can’t fly home without it.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, study: (25 April, late evening)

“Dear lord, I didn’t think we’d ever get them all settled down.” Mycroft sank into his large leather armchair with a sigh of relief. He never imagined he’d have so many houseguests he’d actually run out of bedrooms to put them in. “It’s a good thing Thomas took Liam to his flat. I genuinely don’t know where we’d have put them. That was more exhausting than dinner with my parents.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. We oughta give Anthea a raise for handling my Dad like she did. I thought for sure he was gonna make a scene when Lucifer introduced himself.” Greg leaned over to kiss him as he handed him a glass of whisky, then pulled the other chair closer so he could hold his hand. “I love him, but I’m glad he’s leaving in the morning. If he ever finds out he’s really the Devil, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“We had a little chat earlier, your father and I.”

“Jesus. If he said anything out of line, I’m sorry. He’s got some funny ideas about what gay couples do, but I think he’s at least trying to deal with it.”

“I imagine it’s very difficult at his age. I can’t fault him for wanting what’s best for his son. He did say you could have done worse.”

“Yeah? That’s kinda like praise, comin’ from him.” He smiled happily, giving Mycroft another kiss on the cheek. “You’re what’s best for me, lover.”

“I’m not your only admirer. I do believe I’ve noticed some competition.”

“What? Who?”

“Haven’t you noticed? I think Loki finds you… appealing. I noticed him staring at you more than once.”

“Really? I got the impression him and Lucifer were both trying to flirt with Sherlock.” Greg snorted softly. “You’ve got nothin’ to worry about there. I belong to _you_. Besides, considering our relationship with Fenris, that would be all kinds of weird.”

“Greg, I’ve been thinking… tonight, when we go to bed, what would you think of asking Fenris to join us?”

“I’d be fine with that, lover. I think he’s kinda earned it.”

“As do I, but I must admit, that really didn’t factor into my desire to ask him to join us. It just feels… right, having him with us.”

“Yeah. He’s part of us now.” Greg grinned. “You kinda liked it, having the two of us in bed, didn’t you?”

“It was… rather stimulating.” He was blushing a bit, but had a sly grin. “It’s not my _only_ reason for proposing we include him, but he does have a way of increasing one’s stamina.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, guest bedroom: (25 April, late evening)

“John, I.. do you want… This thing with Lucifer; do you want it?” Sherlock sat on the bed, shirt unbuttoned and trousers still on, with a very uneasy look on his face. “Please, just be honest with me and tell me how _you_ feel about it.”

“What I want is for you not to go to Hell.”

“That’s not really an answer, is it? I know you find him attractive.”

“That’s got very little to do with it at this point. I find a lot of people attractive. It doesn’t mean I want to drag them into bed with us.”

“Like who?” He smiled softly at the wince John made at the question. “I’m not trying to start a row, John. I’m genuinely curious. Other than Lucifer, who among tonight’s dinner companions do you find attractive?”

“…” John sighed deeply, hoping he wouldn’t regret answering. “Anthea, for one. Thomas is actually quite handsome, but the whole vampire business is very off-putting. Loki would be, if he weren’t… Loki, and…”

“And who?”

“If you tell him I said so, I swear I’ll either die of embarrassment or punch you right in the nose, but Greg’s actually very attractive. I’d ask you the same question, but it would be pointless, wouldn’t it? Why are you asking?”

“I was wondering if you had a type.”

“You. _You_ are my type.”

“Why Greg? There’s a certain commonality there with the other men you mentioned; tall, dark-haired, strikingly colored eyes.”

“I suppose it’s more his manner. He’s very confidant. You know, this is very unfair. I can’t ask you the same question. You don’t even notice these sorts of things.”

“True, to an extent. I can recognize the aesthetic value of some people, but the element of physical attraction isn’t there. I suppose that’s one reason I found it so unsettling that Lucifer was able to evoke a physical response from me.”

“Why? Bringing out desire is one of his powers.”

“Because I truly thought that outside of you, I had eliminated any desires of a physical nature.”

“You can’t really do that, Sherlock. You can repress desire, but if it’s a part of you, you can’t eliminate it. It’s like… like that anti-gay therapy business. They can use negative reinforcement and aversion therapy to get what _seems_ like a result, but it’s temporary, and very psychologically damaging. They can’t really rewire someone’s instincts. In a way, it’s the same thing I did. I walled off any desires I may have felt for men, but they were still there whether I acknowledged them or not.”

“Don’t you find it distracting, noticing people are attractive?”

“I suppose when was single and not getting any, I might have at times, but not really in any way that mattered. Take my work, for example. It never got in the way of doing my job as a doctor, no matter how attractive my patient was. I never really never noticed while I was working.”

“I think I understand why I’m so… hesitant about this thing with Lucifer. It’s why I want to know how you really feel about it.”

“I have mixed feelings. If it can somehow… help you stay out of Hell, then I’m for it, but if it’s going to hurt you in some way…”

“That’s not the kind of answer I’m looking for, John. That’s all about me. I want to know, my interest aside, how you personally feel about it.”

“That’s hard to do for me; just put your interests aside like that.”

“Try.”

“I… It’s a bit intriguing in some ways, but I also worry; not just about you, but about how I’d react.”

“In what way?”

“When I picture what it might be like to be in between the two of you, it is arousing, but when I think of him touching you, I worry that it might make me jealous.”

“Do you think it would?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been in a situation like that, so I can’t be sure how I’d feel. You’re so… you, that jealously doesn’t usually even enter my mind, but seeing you respond to someone else’s touch… I just can’t know for sure how that would make me feel.” He looked at him questioningly. “You really _are_ considering it, aren’t you?”

“Yes, for your sake, to set your mind at ease about this Hell business. And for mine, but not in the way you might think. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m afraid it might wake something in me. With the persistent exception of you, I’ve blocked all that out, all that… noticing, and I’m afraid if I can’t, it could detract from the work. Loving you was worth risking my ability to do the work. I’m not so sure my soul is worth that risk, but I think I’d rather face that fear than live with it.”

“That may be one of the most idiotic but romantic things anyone’s ever said. Of course your soul is worth the risk.”

“Then you think we should?”

“I don’t know what to think, because I don’t really understand how it’s all connected. I don’t understand how having sex with the Devil can save your soul or why something that _you_ didn’t do would make you feel guilt, especially as you were… what, eleven-years-old at the time?” John sighed heavily. “I just know it’s not a decision I can make for you. I’m with you, whatever you decide.”

“I’m going to go talk to him.”

“Sherlock, I don’t like the idea of you going to his room alone.”

“Just to talk, John. If… if I decide to take any other course of action, I’ll bring him back here.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, guest bedroom: (25 April, late evening)

“Come in, detective. Make yourself comfortable.”

“I’m just here to talk, Lucifer.”

“I thought you might want to. Sit.”

“Why do you care if I go to Hell?”

“Because you don’t belong there. I like seeing the _guilty_ punished. It’s no fun if they’re not guilty. It’s one of the many reasons I left. There are far too many innocents in Hell, like that ghost child your brother’s taken in. I refuse to cooperate any longer in a system that is far more corrupt and immoral that I could ever be.”

“But why me? You’ve gone through a great deal of trouble on my behalf. What makes me more important than the no doubt millions of other people you could be trying to save?”

“I don’t know. There’s something about you that strikes my sympathy. And you are rather attractive.”

“Even I doubt you’re that shallow.”

“True. There’s something compelling about you. You interest me in a way few mortals do. It’s not something I can explain. I just… find you more likable than most.”

“That’s not something I’m generally accused of.” Sherlock’s lips twitched in amusement.

“I imagine not. Still, it’s the truth.”

“And how, exactly, will having sex with you keep me out of Hell? Is that some sort of bonus all your lovers get?”

“Hell would be a lot emptier if that were true.” Lucifer laughed softly. “Somehow, sex and guilt became intertwined in your soul. I’ve no doubt John’s untangled no small amount of that, but I can help you separate the two. It’s no guarantee, but you’ll let me help, then you can perhaps move past the guilt once it’s sorted out.”

“And just the sexual act, with you, will… untangle that guilt?”

“In a way. It will serve as the catalyst for what I need to do. I’m not just the Devil. I’m the bringer of light. You have a lot of darkness inside you, and if you can let me inside, I can illuminate it. It’s up to you to work it out from there.”

“And you do that with your cock, do you?”

“Questions like that are one of the reason like you. In a manner of speaking, yes. It’s a very intimate thing, touching someone’s soul. There are other ways I might do it, but it’s been ages since I’ve attempted it, and it’s a long, dreary and painful process. What I’m proposing is one evening of exciting, exquisite pleasure instead.”

“If I were to accept your proposition, there’s John to consider. I value his happiness far more than I value my soul. If he were to show any reluctance or jealousy, you’d have to promise to stop.”

“I can’t be held responsible for anything he might feel after, but once he gives his consent, there won’t be any of that during. If it’s any consolation to him, neither of you will fall in love with me. None of my lovers ever has. I used to wonder about that, but I think now one would have to be in love with me before sex.” His voice became soft, filled with longing. “At least, I hope that’s the case.”

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you? Your detective in L.A.”

“Yes. I’ve never loved anyone before.”

“Then you understand how important John is to me.”

“Different as you and I are, there are some similarities between us. You’ve never been in love either, have you?”

“No, I haven’t. I’ve never even had sex with anyone else.”

“Funny, isn’t it? How regardless of our respective lifestyle choices, for both of us, it all comes down to just one person. Just one chance to get it right. We’re not so different after all, are we?”

“There is some irony there, yes.” Sherlock sat for a moment, thinking. “I need to be as sure as possible this won’t hurt him in any way. Give me a few minutes to give him one last chance to change his mind. Do you know which bedroom we’re staying in?”

“Yes. I’ll knock in say… ten minutes?”

“Ten minutes.”

\---


	21. I Think You Both Will Like It

Mycroft and Greg’s house, guest room: (25 April, late evening)

“John, you can still say no if you want, but I’ve invited him back to our room.”

“Oh, dear Lord… Sherlock, are you _sure_ you want to do this? That it won’t… upset you?”

“My concern is entirely for you. Are you nervous about this?”

“I have to admit, some part of me still thinks going we’re going to Hell for having sex with the Devil.”

“If you’re going to feel guilty about it, you might. If that’s the case, we’ll call it off. I would point out to you that your motives are pure, however. You know how the system works. Going to Hell has nothing to do with what men call sin. It’s entirely about personal guilt.”

“I know that all too well. To be honest, I think I’m just panicking a bit at the thought of sharing you with anyone, and how you’re going to handle this. I know how you feel about someone other than me touching you. Aren’t you afraid?”

“I have you with me, John.”

“And I have you.” John smiled up at him as Sherlock took off his dressing gown, marveling at how calm he seemed. “You are, by far, the bravest man I’ve ever known.”

“You give me too much credit. Once one has committed to a course of action, there’s no point in panicking.” Sherlock decided it would be best to get John’s focus off his worries. He sat down on the bed beside him, pulling him into a kiss. “What is it exactly that you find attractive about him?”

“I apparently do have a type, as you’ve noticed, but really, it’s the wings. When we stepped into his penthouse and I saw those wings… they’re really very compelling. That’s when I realized that I was capable of being attracted to some man other than you. What is it that _you_ find attractive about him?”

“When he kissed me in the club, he looked into me and I looked back. I suppose it’s due to my Seer powers, but I could sense that underneath that playboy image he projects is a very deep intellect. In some ways, he and I are very alike.”

“It’s a bit hard to see. He just seems so concerned with personal pleasure and self-indulgence. Besides, you do know you’re much more beautiful than he is, don’t you?” John ran his fingers through Sherlock’s dark curls. “No one, angel or devil or god, could ever match the beauty of your eyes.”

“It’s astonishing how such maudlin sentiments can move me so when _you_ say them about me.” He crushed his lips against John’s, pulling him down on the bed, playfully battling with their tongues. A few passionate minutes later, there was a soft knock at their door.

“Should I answer it?”

“Yes.” John tried, with mixed success, to hide his nervousness behind a smile.

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, bedroom: (25 April, late evening)

“Mmm, lover…” Greg stood behind Mycroft, nibbling at his neck as he helped him unbutton his shirt. “I love doing this; stripping all your clothes off.”

“As do I. There’s something delightfully intimate in the way you undress me.” He leaned against his lover’s chest as Greg unfastened his trousers, sliding his hand inside to caress his cock. “It’s very sensual.”

“And this…” Greg knelt to pull his trousers off, biting his arse cheeks gently through the back of his pants. “This is the sexiest arse I’ve even seen. One of these days, I really am gonna make you put that body armor on, just so I can take it off.”

“It is rather form-fitting.” Mycroft, who was finally beginning to believe that he did indeed have a sexy arse, smiled slyly.

“Yeah, and I know a form that _this_ fits in just right.” He stood up, nibbling Mycroft’s shoulder as he reached around, cupping his lover’s ample cock in his hand. “I want your cock inside me, lover.” Greg wrapped his arms around him, holding him as he pressed his hardness against his lover’s arse. Mycroft shivered, filled with anticipation.

“Let’s go see if Fenris is out of the shower yet, my love.” He turned in Greg’s arms, bending his head to kiss him, then led him into the bedroom.

“Hello, Mycroft and Greg.” Fenris was lying on the bed, leering at the two of them hungrily as he watched then strip off their underclothes. “I am very eager for you.”

“So I see.” Greg eyed the Wolf God’s lean, muscular body and hard cock appreciatively. He glanced down at Mycroft’s cock, grinning happily as he led him to bed. “You’re not the only one who’s eager.”

Mycroft lay down between them, turning to kiss Greg passionately as Fenris’s hands roamed across his body. He then turned to Fenris, kissing him with almost equal fervor while Greg nibbled his earlobe and reached down, stroking his lover’s cock. Not so long ago, Mycroft would have felt awkward and uncomfortable being the center of sexual attention. Now he reveled in it, confident in the knowledge that his lovers found him desirable.

“God, Lover, I want your cock inside me so much”, Greg growled softly as he felt it throbbing in his grasp. He reached over, grabbing the lube from the bedside table and warming it in his hand before spreading it on his lover’s hard, hot flesh. Mycroft moaned softly, thrusting into his touch. Rolling over to take the bottle from him, he coated his fingers and worked them into Greg’s body as Fenris slid down and spread Mycroft’s cheeks.

“Assume the position, Greg.” Mycroft’s tone was commanding, tinged with amusement. His lover really did seem to enjoy it when he became demanding. Greg eagerly complied, getting on his hands and knees as Mycroft knelt behind him. Fenris followed him, his long tongue gliding between Mycroft’s arse cheeks, teasing at the hole.

“Oh, _yeahhh…”_ , Greg moaned as the thick head of Mycroft’s cock plunged through the tight ring of muscle, burying itself deep inside his arse. The mix of pain and pleasure sent goose bumps across his body as Mycroft began to thrust into him.

“This is… _ohh_ _Goddd_ …”, Mycroft panted. “… so good.” Greg’s body was hot and tight around his cock, while Fenris’s tongue fucked into his arse, lengthening as it pressed against his prostate in hot, wet spirals.

_“Can I mount you, Mycroft?”_

“Yes.” Being between the two was a position Mycroft had learned he liked quite a lot. He passed the lube to Fenris, though with the job his tongue had done, not much would be needed. He moaned with pleasure and his long fingers dug into Greg’s flesh as he felt Fenris enter him. He rocked his hips, back onto Fenris, forward into Greg, as his orgasm built.

Greg’s hands dug into the sheets as his lover slammed into him, rough and full of passion, just like he liked it. His limbs trembled as he began to orgasm, cock leaking onto the sheets. His low growl of pleasure was echoed by Fenris.

The sound of the two of them drove Mycroft over the edge. He cried out suddenly as he came, filling Greg’s body with the heat of his cum as Fenris filled his. The three collapsed together on the bed, panting and smiling.

“Since Greg is still hard, I’m going to lick you now Mycroft. I want to make your hard again. I have an idea for a fun thing we can try. I think you both will like it…”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, guest bedroom: (25 April, late evening)

“Well then, shall we?” The same eyes which had flashed red in the study and filled him with fear now looked at John with a surprising gentleness. “I’m assuming neither of you has ever had a three-way?”

“No, we haven’t.” He tried to look confident, but John’s fingers subconsciously tightened on Sherlock’s hand.

“Do you have any rules…” He smiled, careful not to use his power to compel. “…or desires?”

“John likes the wings.”

“Do you now?” Lucifer let his dressing gown slip to the floor as his wings appeared, and sat on the bed near John. “They’re delightfully sensitive here. Touch them if you’d like.” He indicated the soft, downy feathers on the underside of his wings. John reached out, tentatively stroking them. Lucifer shivered under his touch, making a soft, almost-cooing moan.

“They’re so soft…”

“It’s the _only_ part of me that is.”

“So I see.” John glanced down, flushing slightly. Lucifer’s cock was, as he’d expected it would be, definitely on the large side and every bit as handsome as the man himself. “Um, rules. We’re both versatile, but I’m not sure if that’s going to fit comfortably… It’s quite big…”

“You’re actually very adorable when you’re embarrassed.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Sherlock grinned, leaning over to kiss John.

“It’s funny that I’m the nervous one.” He glanced over at Sherlock, wondering if he was really as calm as he looked.

“There’s no need to be nervous, Doctor. You’re in very experienced hands.” To illustrate his point, Lucifer’s hand slid under the sheets, circling John’s half-hard cock with an expert caress. He smiled as John gasped, then threw back the sheet and slid into bed between them.

“What about you, Lucifer? Do you have any rules?”

“I’m not one for rules, so I’d call it more of a request. I know it’s difficult in the throes of passion, but if you could refrain from mentioning my father during sex, I’d appreciate it. It’s a bit of a turn off, as you can imagine.” He grinned. “Other than that, you can do _anything_ you’d like with me.”

“Then switch places with John. He mentioned something about being between us…”

“Sherlock, I… This isn’t supposed to be about me.”

“Set your desires free, John.” Lucifer stroked John’s now hard cock again, then gracefully crawled over him, wedging John between him and Sherlock.

“The lube’s in the drawer by the bed”, Sherlock murmured to Lucifer, nibbling at the shivery spot on John’s neck.

“You won’t need much with me. I’m naturally lubricated”, Lucifer said, handing the bottle to John. “Sherlock needs it though, I’d imagine. I assume that is what you mean by in the middle. It really is a wonderful place to be. You’re going to enjoy this, John.” He tossed the pillows out of the way, grasping the headboard and directing John to kneel behind him, between his knees. He spread his wings wide, giving John free access to them.

“Uh, yeah, I…” John spread a little oil on his cock and passed it to Sherlock. He had to admit to himself that Lucifer was a magnificent sight. His wings were spread wide, shimmering in the light, and his body was perfect. John’s eyes trailed down his back and narrow waist to his amazingly fuckable arse, muscular yet perfectly curved. Curious, he hesitantly probed the opening, sliding a finger in. He was hot, slick and marvelously tight, even past his entrance. Any lingering reticence John might have had wasn’t shared by his cock, which throbbed eagerly.

“Relax, John.” Sherlock bent his head, nibbling at John’s shoulder as he slid oil-slicked fingers between his cheeks. He wasn’t quite as in-the-moment as he usually was when it was only John and him, but he wasn’t panicked either. He was surprised at his own level of arousal. From what his Seer abilities could tell him, he didn’t sense any psychic element at play, and he wondered if Lucifer has some sort of pheromonal ability. He teased at John’s opening, gently sliding a finger inside him.

Heart pounding with a mixture of anxiety and desire, John pushed his cock into Lucifer. He moaned, eyes widening in surprise. The head of his cock slid across ridges of muscle that contracted around his cock, massaging it as he pumped himself into him. The man’s internal anatomy was very different than a human’s. The doctor in him would have been fascinated had he not been nearly overwhelmed by the physical sensation. One hand reached out, caressing the soft feathers of Lucifer’s wings.

Sherlock worked a second finger into John, impatient to sheath his throbbing cock inside him. There was definitely an element of arousal here beyond human. Groaning with need, he positioned himself, letting John impale himself as his hips thrust backwards.

“Oh, G-…” John barely managed to cut off the word, slightly astonished that he remembered to. He drove himself deep into Lucifer and stayed there, feeling the muscles inside him massaging his cock. He knew that he kept moving he’d cum sooner than he wanted. He moaned as Sherlock drove deeper into him.

 _“John_ …”, Sherlock moaned into his ear then licked his neck, savoring the taste of him. His senses felt heightened, every sensation intensified yet more languid, like an especially lucid dream. He fucked deeply into his lover’s body, wondering if John was as close to cumming as he was.

Lucifer moaned, his wings fluttering slightly, in rhythm with his internal movements. He could feel the throbbing of John’s cock, and knew he’d cum soon. He smiled over his shoulder, his dark brown eyes meeting Sherlock’s gaze. He wasn’t even trying to deal with the detective’s guilt right now. This first round of sex was intended to relax the pair. Then his real work would begin. For now, he was content with enjoying the two of them. His real pleasure rested entirely in the pleasure he gave his lovers, echoing in his own body as he magnified theirs.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, pressing his chest against his back as he began to cum. John’s hole clenched around him as he followed suit, crying out loudly. Despite the incredible intensity of their orgasms, a part of Sherlock’s mind remained detached, watching from the outside. Observing John and Lucifer’s reactions from this perspective was fascinating.

“That was…”, John panted, partially collapsing on the bed. He glanced up at Sherlock, eyes wide, then looked at Lucifer in amazement. “You are definitely not human.”

“What gave it away?”, Lucifer chuckled.

“He’s not…”, John looked over at Sherlock. “Inside, he’s not built like us.”

“Really?” Sherlock’s lips curled in amusement. He raised an eyebrow in curiosity, looking at Lucifer. “May I?”

“Certainly, detective.” He stayed in place as Sherlock slid a finger inside him, feeling the ridges of muscle that contracted around his finger.

“Fascinating. You are literally built for pleasure.”

“Well, it _is_ the only thing I use it for.”

“The _only_ thing?” John looked up in astonishment. “You don’t..?”

“No. Part of my Angelic heritage. They’re far too pure to do that sort of thing.” He turned around, folding his wings and sitting down on the bed. “And you, detective, aren’t playing entirely fair. Fun as this is, you’re a bit… absent for this to properly work.”

“I was afraid that might be the case.”

“You’re going to have to let your walls down for round two or we’ll be at this all night. Not that I mind, but we do have a purpose beyond pleasure for doing all this.”

“Round two?” John looked at the two of them incredulously. “I can’t imagine going again after that.”

“Can’t you, John?” Lucifer grinned at him. “You can just watch if you’d like, but I think your body might feel otherwise.”

“My…” John suddenly realized that his cock was already twitching at the mention of round two. He hadn’t been this quick to bounce back for action when he was eighteen. “How is that humanly possible?”

“As you pointed out, I’m not human.”

“Pheromones, I assume?”

“Yes, but if you’re not more cooperative, I’ll have to use more… aggressive tactics.”

“Aggressive tactics? Sherlock, what does he mean?”

“Magic. I’ve told you before, John. I’m never entirely in the moment unless it’s you and me, alone. A part of my mind remained detached, observing. It was rather fascinating, but as Lucifer pointed out, non-productive for our purposes.” He turned to Lucifer. “I may not be able to entirely let my walls down in such an intimate situation without some sort of magical intervention. Will you be able to overcome my Seer abilities if I should prove resistant?”

“Yes, but I’d prefer not to have to. You need to let yourself be vulnerable with me.”

“It’s difficult for me. You’ll need to top me for that.”

“Yes, I thought that would be the case.”

“Sherlock, are you sure you can handle… that?” Somewhat dismayed, John glanced at Lucifer’s cock, then back at Sherlock. Aside from the fact that it was very large, it was also very much not his. To his surprise, it wasn’t jealousy that motivated his misgivings. He was genuinely worried Sherlock might panic having someone else inside him.

“I won’t hurt him, John”, Lucifer said gently. “Despite my reputation and my love of sex, I really am trying to help him.”

“I can do this, John.” Sherlock smiled softly at him. “I have you here.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, bedroom: (25 April, late evening)

“Are you quite sure you can handle both of us at once?” Mycroft tried not to look too hopeful, though the idea Fenris had proposed was very intriguing. It sounded delightfully decadent.

“I am sure. It has been a while, but I have done this before.”

“How do we go about it?”

“Stay like you are, on your back.” Fenris poured some lube in his hand, applying a generous amount to Mycroft’s very hard cock, then handed the bottle to Greg. “Put a lot inside me and on yourself. It works best if I am very slick inside.”

“Yeah, I bet…” Already breathing hard in anticipation, Greg worked a large dollop of it into Fenris’s arse. He watched as Fenris straddled Mycroft and sank down on his cock. “God, that’s fuckin’ hot.”

“Now kneel behind me and stretch me out with your fingers. When you can get three inside, you can mount me too. You will do most of the moving, Greg.” Fenris moaned with a low sensual growl as he felt Greg’s fingers stretching him. It would be very good to feel both of his packmates inside him, taking their pleasure together.

“That feel good? You want my cock now?” Just putting his fingers inside, against Mycroft’s cock, had been incredibly erotic. Imagining what it would feel like with his cock in there, rubbing against his lover’s, had him panting eagerly.

“Yes, Greg.” He looked down at Mycroft and grinned. “You will like this, Mycroft. To feel his cock sliding against yours inside me will give us all great pleasure.”

Greg positioned himself behind Fenris, slowly working the head of his cock inside him. Both Mycroft and Fenris moaned as he sheathed himself inside, his cock rubbing against his lover’s thick shaft. It was deliciously, wonderfully tight, and he was soon fucking enthusiastically into Fenris, encouraged by the sounds both were making.

“Ohh _Fuckkk_ …”, Mycroft moaned. The sensation of Greg’s cock sliding against his inside the tight heat of Fenris’s body was even more exquisite than he’d imagined. He could feel Fenris’s cock, leaking onto his belly, and he reached down, stroking it in rhythm with Greg’s movements.

 _“Mycroft, that feels very good!”_ Fenris had abandoned verbal speech in favor of panting. He threw his head back, his moan more like a howl. _“Your cocks feel so good inside me.”_

“Oh, _Goddd_ …”, Greg growled. “I’m about… to cum.” He drove in deep, feeling Mycroft cumming with him. A few moments later, just as their orgasms ended, Fenris spilled his own hot fluid onto Mycroft’s chest.

“Oh… Dear Lord. Fenris… that was… most enjoyable.”

“Yeah.” Greg laughed, wheezing slightly as he tried to catch his breath. “It was amazing.”

“I came very hard.” Fenris grinned up at Mycroft, licking the cum off his chest. _“Let me clean that off for you.”_

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, guest bedroom: (25 April, late evening)

“It doesn’t hurt, us lying on your wing like this?”

“No, not at all.” Lucifer had spread one wing under Sherlock and John as his agile, experienced fingers teased at Sherlock’s opening. Sherlock lay on his side, his back to Lucifer and facing John, kissing him and grasping their lubed-up cocks together in his hand. Lucifer extended his other wing over the pair, wrapping them in a feathery embrace. His voice was low, softly seductive and reassuring. “Let me in, Sherlock. You’re safe here. Let down your walls.”

Sherlock moaned into John’s mouth as Lucifer’s long fingers slid inside him, pressing against his prostate. He closed his eyes, trying to open his mind, concentrating on Lucifer’s voice and the sensations around him: the hardness of John’s cock, the heat of his mouth, the soft sea of feathers surrounding them.

“That’s it, Sherlock”, Lucifer murmured encouragingly. There was still some resistance in his mind, but his body was ready. He slid himself inside in one smooth motion, giving Sherlock time to adjust to his size before he started moving. Sherlock gasped, but there was very little pain; just the sense of being filled by the heat of Lucifer’s flesh and the gentle, insistent pressure on his prostate. A little magic would be needed to get by Sherlock’s mental defenses, even with his cooperation. “Ask me to help him, John. Ask me for a favor. I’ve already gotten what I want in return.”

“Lucifer, help him, please. I don’t understand how all this works, but help him let go of the guilt.” John looked into Sherlock’s eyes. “I love you so much. I don’t want you going to Hell.”

“Make love to each other slowly. Take joy in your mutual pleasure and desire. There is little in this world or the next that is sacred, but love. Your love for each other is sacred.” Lucifer began to move, slowing sliding in-and-out of Sherlock’s body, the thick head of his cock pressing against his prostate with every thrust. He felt the last of Sherlock’s defenses going down, and he slid inside his soul as smoothly and gently as he did his body. He had to get this done quickly, before the detective came and while his defenses were still down.

“John… I love you. If my soul is worthy of salvation, it’s because of your love.” Sherlock poured his heart into his kiss, focusing on him until Lucifer faded into the background and it seemed like just the two of them, alone in a cloud of white. He pressed his cock against John’s, grinding slowly against him, making love to him at a leisurely pace.

Finally inside Sherlock’s mind palace, Lucifer’s body quit moving as he concentrated on finding the intersection of guilt and sexuality. The detective’s mind was complex and extraordinarily beautiful, and if he hadn’t had a mission to carry out he could have happily spent hours exploring its maze of corridors and passageways, but he kept moving deeper within the detective’s mind, finding the place where guilt intertwined with his sexuality; a memory from his childhood. Sighing, he began the work of untangling it, hoping he could finish before Sherlock orgasmed. Once the haze of passion cleared, remaining in his mind would be much more difficult.

Their lovemaking seemed dreamlike to John. There, literally surrounded by Lucifer’s wings, the rest of the world receded and it seemed like the two of them were in an intimate, erotic world all their own. His body moved in rhythm with Sherlock’s, hearts beating in tandem, breath rates slowly but steadily increasing.

As the last of the knot came unraveled, Lucifer could hear Sherlock’s heart rate rising. He let himself be drawn back out, into his own body’s pleasure. He moaned softly as he began to move again, his thick cock pressing against Sherlock’s prostate with every thrust.

Sherlock and John became aware of Lucifer’s presence, but rather than being intrusive, he added another layer of sensuality to their lovemaking. John’s fingers explored the soft underside of his wings, drawing a low, purring moan from him. They felt their climax building to its apex.

Lucifer came with them, wings fluttering as he spent himself inside of Sherlock. He rolled onto his back, letting one wing fall to the side of the bed and grinning as the two lovers kissed. His eyes widened in surprise as John leaned across Sherlock and kissed him as well.

“Thank you. That was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life.”

“You’re welcome, John, but if you _really_ want to thank me, I have some very creative ideas as to how you might do so…”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, bedroom: (26 April, early AM)

“You do this every time?” Fenris laughed softly, watching Greg and Mycroft change the sheets. “Your washerwomen must work hard.”

“I like to sleep on clean sheets”, Mycroft said primly.

“It just means we get to dirty them up again in the morning.” Greg grinned at his lover and leaned over, stealing a kiss. “But he’s got a point. Whoever does the laundry around here probably deserves a raise.”

“Can I sleep in here tonight?” Fenris looked hopefully at his packmates. To him, sleeping with the pack was almost better than mating with them.

“Yes, but I’ll expect you to join us in the shower.”

“Modern humans shower a lot. But this time even I think I need one. I think I have cum in my hair.”

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t”, laughed Greg. “I gotta say, that sex power thing you do is great.”

“I think I spent my time in Hell more wisely than I realized.”

“Yes, at our age it’s rather remarkable.” Mycroft looked smugly pleased with himself. The evening’s fun had included an imaginative array of positions, all spurred on by the magic of Fenris’s tongue. Having a God with sex powers as a lover certainly had its advantages.

“You know, I think next time, I might wanna try that double penetration thing.” Greg grinned. He’d always thought it was hot but impracticable in the pornos he’d watched, but now it seemed do-able.

“Are you quite sure?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow at Greg. “It seems rather… daunting.”

“Yeah, but you know I like a little pain mixed with my pleasure sometimes.” He looked curiously at Fenris. “How much does it hurt?”

“Not much, but my body isn’t human. Mycroft’s cock is very large so we would have to be careful not to harm you, but I think you might like it if we prepare you enough. Once your body adjusts it feels good. There is a lot of good pressure on your…” He cocked his head, grasping for the right word. “…prostate. And I like the feeling of being filled by my packmates.”

“You have a very kinky side, Greg.” Mycroft leaned over to kiss him. “I find I quite like it.”

“I’m not the only one. God, you’re sexy when you get demanding. It’s a real turn on, watching you take charge.”

“And I enjoy submitting to you when you take charge. I’m glad that we’re both flexible in that way.” Mycroft smiled slyly at Greg. “But since you like me giving orders, go downstairs and get some water. I’m sure we’re all very dehydrated.”

“I would like mead better Greg.”

“I’ll be right back. You…” Greg tried to keep from grinning as he looked sternly at Mycroft. “Get that sexy arse of yours in the shower and I’ll be right up to join you.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, kitchen: (26 April, early AM)

“Hey, John.” Greg looked up from rummaging through the refrigerator. “You need something?” He finally found some mead in the back and got a bottle to go with the two bottles of water he’d grabbed.

“Yeah, a couple of bottles of water and, um… a bottle of wine.”

“What kind?” Greg raised an eyebrow, wondering if he looked as anywhere near as rumpled and thoroughly fucked as John. Neither John nor Sherlock were wine drinkers, so they obviously had some company that evening. He had a good idea who it was.

“I honestly don’t know. Something expensive, I’d guess.” He blushed, knowing Greg had to realize it wasn’t for him or Sherlock. “Red, I think.”

“Lucifer, huh?” Greg chuckled. “Good for you; he’s definitely hot. You don’t gotta worry. I won’t tell anybody.”

“Thanks. I know it may seem a bit kinky…”

“Yeah, well we got Fenris, so _I’m_ not judging. He’s real… imaginative.” Greg took a guess on quality based on the label and handed him a bottle of wine along with the water.

“He’s not the only one.” John’s blush deepened, but he grinned. “It’s like being a teen-ager again. Lucifer’s got this power to, um, encourage things along…”

“So does Fenris. I better go see what those two are up to in the shower.” He grinned back at John. “I don’t wanna miss anything good.”

Greg returned to find Mycroft braced against the wall of their large walk-in shower with Fenris kneeling behind him, enthusiastically licking his arse. Greg tossed his dressing gown aside and joined them, smiling happily.

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, guest bedroom: (26 April, early morning)

After a long evening of very creative positions, Lucifer had left the two lovers curled up asleep in each other’s arms. John woke to find his lover staring off into space, obviously deep in thought. He lay there quietly until Sherlock noticed he was awake.

“Did it work? Do you feel any different?” John looked searchingly at his lover.

“It worked.” Sherlock sighed softly. “Now, as Lucifer said, I have to find a way to move past it. Are you alright?”

“Me? I’m a bit sore in all the right places, but I’m surprisingly okay with what we did last night. I think if he were human, I might feel differently, but the only thing I regret is not showering before we fell asleep. What about you?”

“I don’t regret anything we did with him, if that’s what you mean. I suppose you’re right; the fact that he’s not human seems to make a difference, though I’m not sure why it should. To be honest, I rather enjoyed it. He’s a bit fascinating. Did you notice that his pleasure is entirely dependent on his partner’s?”

“I was wondering about that. I noticed he always came when one of us did. I still can’t believe I let him top me. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as I thought it would. It was actually quite… good.”

“You did look a bit terrified there for a moment, but desire _is_ his power. Is it something you’d want to do again; have a three-way?”

“I really don’t know. Occasionally, maybe. It was fun, I’ll admit that, but still I like it best when it’s just the two of us. I suppose it might depend on the circumstances, and how you felt about it. Would you want to do it again?”

“I don’t know either. Like you, I suppose it would depend on the circumstances. It did change me. I don’t desire anyone but you, but the thought of someone other than you touching me doesn’t… disturb me as it once did. Whatever guilt I carry isn’t connected to my sexuality anymore.”

“It’s a strange thing to be saying, but I’m glad we did it. Not that I’m planning to do it again; it’s just… I’m glad the guilt is gone.”

“It’s not gone, but at least sex has nothing to do with it anymore.” He frowned, thinking of what he should do. “I think I need to have a rather uncomfortable conversation with Mycroft after breakfast.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, study: (26 April, morning)

“There’s something I need to talk to you about. Privately, if you don’t mind.”

“I gotta go see Dad off anyway.” Greg kissed Mycroft on the cheek and shut the door on his way out, leaving him alone with Sherlock.

“You do know there’s nothing you can’t say in front of Greg.”

“You’re not going to want to hear this, but I… I have to make a confession. One that you may not want him to hear.”

“Oh?”

“Mycroft, all those years ago… the day _she_ died. I was there.” He sat, shifting nervously in the chair. “I saw what happened. I saw what you did, and I didn’t try stop to stop you. I’m sorry.”

“Why bring this up after all these years?” Mycroft’s face froze into a perfect mask of detachment, though his brother’s words filled him with a sharp pang of regret.

“Lucifer. He says I’m going to Hell if I don’t deal with the guilt I feel over it.”

“Lucifer knows about this?” A bit of alarm showed in his tone, despite his efforts.

“I don’t know if he’s aware of the details. He was able to sense that the guilt I feel was entangled in my mind with my ideas on sexuality. He… untangled that, but I still have to confront my guilt if I’m going to move past it.”

“Why should you feel guilty? You didn’t kill her. I did. Or perhaps Uncle Rudy did. I suppose I’ll never know if she was already dead when he put her in the pool, but either way, I was ultimately responsible, not you.”

“I could have stopped you.”

“How much did you see?” The fact that he wasn’t blushing was a testament to his self-control. A particularly humiliating round of sex had preceded his actions, and it occurred to him that his brother’s rejection of sexual activities might have a lot more to do with his own actions than he realized.

“Enough to wonder just how responsible you really were. You seemed… not yourself. Had you been drinking?”

“I had one. After that, my recollections are a bit unclear, though I can’t say if it was due to stress or to her slipping something into my drink. Either explanation is equally likely. I do distinctly remember what I did, however. Regardless of what Uncle Rudy may or may not have done, I am the one ultimately responsible. You have no reason for hold yourself accountable in any way.”

“I saw you substitute the drugs she was injecting before you brought them to her. I knew what you were doing, and I knew you were impaired. The fact that I could have stopped you and chose not to makes me just as culpable as you, if not more so.”

“Sherlock, you were eleven. Holding you in any way responsible would be absurd. Things should have never gotten to that point in the first place. I let her play on my own insecurities and vulnerabilities.”

“You were seventeen and no more wise to the ways of the world than I was. After Lucifer’s help, I now remember the events of that day with perfect clarity. You were drugged and psychologically manipulated by an abusive older woman who was seeking to gain control of the trust fund you were about to have access to.” His expression softened, and he wondered how much guilt Mycroft had carried all these years. “Neither of us should feel guilty about that day. I think we’ve both paid for our sins, don’t you?”

“Perhaps”, he said softly. “I _am_ very sorry for whatever damage may have inadvertently been done to you. I had no idea you saw… that.”

“Maybe _you_ should talk to Lucifer.”

“I suspect his aid in that matter requires more than talking, little brother.”

“So what if it does?” Sherlock smiled gently. “Sex doesn’t frighten me anymore, Mycroft.”

“Hm. It seems he _was_ helpful after all. I don’t think I need more companions in that particular department, however.”

“Is it… Are you alright with it; you and Fenris? It is more than physical, isn’t it?”

“Yes, and I find myself surprisingly comfortable with our… relationship.”

“Is Greg as pleased as you are?”

“Yes. Regardless of its magical nature, our bond with Fenris is very deep and quite mutual.” He smiled fondly. “He’s very much part of my… pack.” He glanced up as a knock at the door interrupted their conversation.

“Guys, you need to come upstairs. She’s awake.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, guest bedroom: (26 April, morning)

“Do I know you? You both seem familiar. It seems like I should know you, but I can’t remember.” Eurus stared curiously at Sherlock and Mycroft with wide, blue-grey eyes.

“We’re your brothers. I’m Mycroft, and this is Sherlock.” He hid his anxiety behind a smile, trying not acknowledge his hope that she was no longer mad. He wasn’t sure he could handle the crushing despair he’d feel if he had to lock her away again.

“Those are funny names. Why don’t I remember you?”

“You had an… accident that affected your memory.”

“Who am I? I don’t seem to remember _my_ name either.”

“You name is Eurus Holmes.”

“That’s a funny name too. I don’t think I like it.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. Mycroft and Sherlock both exchanged glances, wondering if there was any significance to her dislike of her old name.

“Your full name is Angelica Eurus Violet Holmes.”

“I like Violet better. Let’s call me that instead. Is this my room? It doesn’t look like a girl’s room.”

“There was a fire where you used to live. We’ll fix this one up for you, however you like.” Mycroft opened the closet, which contained a few hastily acquired pieces of appropriate clothing. “Why don’t you get dressed, and we’ll all go for a walk in the garden, and then we’ll get you some breakfast.”

“Okay. I’m hungry. Is there cereal? I want cereal with toast and jam. I don’t like eggs.”

“I’m sure we’ll find something you like. We’ll be right outside when you’ve finished dressing.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, garden: (26 April, morning)

“Well, she’s passed the fairy test at least.” Mycroft and Sherlock sat on the bench near the hawthorn tree, watching Violet interact with Alice and the fairies. “She seems to be talking with them. Do you think she understands them?”

“It’s highly likely. Loki did refer to her as a Goddess. You’re going to have to be extremely careful with her, Mycroft. We have no idea what kind of powers she has, and even _if_ she’s no longer a dangerous psychopath, she’s very young. She may not be able to understand how to control her powers or the repercussions of using them.”

“I’m well aware of that.” Mycroft frowned, considering his options. “It would be best to have a tutor for her in such matters. Do you think Lucifer would be willing? He’s proven trustworthy thus far.”

“I doubt it. Once his feather grows back, he’ll no doubt be eager to return to L.A. Unless you want to chance summoning someone, Loki may be your only option… assuming he’s willing.”

“And do you really think he’s trustworthy?” The expression on Mycroft’s face showed he clearly didn’t.

“Well, he is practically related to you.”

“Somehow I don’t think the fact that he’s Fenris’s father will carry much weight. Perhaps I should seek Lucifer’s advice on the matter.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, study: (26 April, mid-morning)

“Sherlock said you wanted a word with me?” Lucifer glided into the room and settled into the chair.

“Yes.” Knowing he’d want one, Mycroft handed him a glass of his finest brandy. “I’d like to ask your advice, but I really should thank you first for all you’ve done. Without the book you gave Sherlock and your assistance with the dragon, we’d be in a very different situation right now.”

“I’m well aware of that, Mycroft. It’s fortunate you’re so gifted with magic. It usually takes a lot longer to master the spells. How long did it take you to learn the freezing spell?”

“About ten minutes. The hand gestures are a bit complex to memorize.”

“That is impressive. It would take most mages weeks to learn it correctly.” Lucifer decided that Mycroft was more interesting than he’d first thought. He took a sip from his brandy, idly wondering if he’d be as difficult to bed as his brother had proven. He resisted the temptation to ask him what his greatest desire was. “What can I do for you, Mycroft?”

“I’m sure you’re aware of our situation with our sister. It’s put me in a very difficult position. Before Loki gave her that potion, she had been a violent psychopath since early childhood. She’s passed the fairy test, for what that’s worth, but even if she is mentally and emotionally stable we have no idea of the extent of her powers or how to train her to use them responsibly. I intend to raise her here if I can do so safely, but she’s going to need a tutor of some sort. I know you have obligations elsewhere, but I was hoping you could recommend a course of action. Is Loki a possible choice for such an endeavor?”

“Possible, yes. _Advisable_ is another matter altogether. I’m afraid your relationship with Fenris won’t give you an advantage with him. It’s a pity I’m needed elsewhere. I’m sure you and I could come to some… equitable agreement as to payment, but unfortunately it’s a bit of a commute even for one with my abilities.”

“Then you believe he’s not trustworthy?”

“He’s the God of mischief, as well as fire and earthquakes. Causing trouble is his vocation. He’s not evil, but trustworthy wouldn’t be in my list of adjectives to describe him. Personally, I question his involvement in this whole affair. It’s highly possible he had a hand in starting the trouble you found yourselves in. Destiny obviously has a plan for that girl, and I wouldn’t put it past the old bastard to have used Loki to start off the very series of disasters he helped avert. It also fits Loki’s pattern of getting people into trouble so that he can show up to save the day.”

“That had occurred. Are there any other Powers you might recommend to tutor her?”

“We all have an agenda, Mycroft, and Powers don’t generally like to be summoned.”

“Yes, so I’ve learned.”

“There’s a reason why you haven’t run into more of them. Some of the weaker ones may be waiting for the seal to completely disintegrate, but few of them have any particular fondness for humans, especially as you lot have ceased worshipping most of them. A lot of them can’t summon their full ability on Earth or are bound by rules that make them vulnerable here. It’s far from ideal, but Loki may be your only logical choice at this point.”

“Do you have any advice on dealing with him?”

“He rarely has a larger agenda than causing trouble and having fun. He’s easily bored, so he seldom has any type of long-term plans, though he capable of patience if it suits him. He likes power, but not for its own sake; more as a way of insuring his own safety and amusement. Unlike me, he’s perfectly capable of lying if it suits his purpose. He’s vain, proud, and tends to hold grudges. He also likes to… acquire things he thinks he may find useful in the future, so I’d keep that book of yours close, if I were you. He’s attracted to buxom blondes and older men, but he’s not particularly picky if those aren’t available. He enjoys puzzles and challenges, but is a very poor loser. He has no particular loyalties, except to himself. He likes praise, but if he discovers it’s not genuine, he can be viciously creative in exacting his revenge.”

“What level of power does he wield?”

“He’s no where near my level of power, of course, but he’s quite powerful, all things considered. Aside from being the God of fire and earthquakes, he’s also a gifted shape-shifter and very well-versed in a number of forms of magic. He’s especially good at hypnosis and illusion, can grant powers to people and objects, and is one of the few beings that can travel between realms freely, without depending on gates, ways or summoning. All in all, if he were ambitious, this world would be in great danger. Luckily, he generally just wants to alleviate the tedium of immortality with the divine equivalent of sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll.”

“Thank you. You’ve been very thorough.”

“It’s my pleasure.” He sighed softly. He’d like to make his offer contingent on sex, but although he’d never admit it, John’s accusation of blackmail still stung. “Ask me for a favor if you’d like. I’ll be here for a couple more days. While I might not be available to tutor her, I could certainly help establish the level and scope of her powers and give my best advice. I could even do a few things to make Loki more… manageable.” He fixed his most charming smile on Mycroft. “It’s entirely up to you. If you don’t want to ask for a favor, you could share yours instead. You could even bring your lovers. Between my abilities and Fenris’s, it could be a very stimulating evening for everyone.”

“It’s certainly a generous offer to consider, though I’m curious as to why you’re interested in a sexual encounter with me.”

“You’re interesting. I like complexity. L.A. is filled with beautiful, simple people. Besides…” Lucifer grinned at him. “I saw you in that body armor. You’ve got a magnificent arse.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, garden: (26 April, late morning)

 _“Greg, come quickly! Violet brought Alice back to life and then fainted.”_ Fenris skidded to a stop on the tile of the kitchen floor. _“There will be trouble. It is forbidden to bring the dead back to life.”_

“What?” Greg and John rushed after him as he ran back into the garden while Sherlock went to get Mycroft. They found Alice sitting under the tree, looking very much alive and crying as she shook Violet’s shoulder, trying to wake her. Tim knelt beside her, obviously worried.

“Violet won’t wake up!” Alice ran to Greg and threw her arms around his legs, sobbing. “We were just playing and she said it wasn’t fair that I can’t catch the ball. Then she just fell over. I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“I know, sweetheart. It’s okay, don’t be scared.” Greg knelt, putting his arms around her as John went to check on Violet. He could feel the warmth of her in his arms and he patted her back, trying to soothe her tears. “John? Is she alright?”

“Her heart rate’s fine and her pupils are reactive, but I can’t wake her. It looks a lot like when Mycroft passed out from overusing his magic. Fenris, go find Lucifer. Maybe he’ll be able to tell us what’s happened.” He gathered her into his arms. “Bring him to her room.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, Violet’s room: (26 April, late morning)

“She’ll be alright. She’s just used more magic than her body can handle. If Loki’s willing to help, between the two of us we can probably give her enough magical energy to recover in a few hours.” Lucifer brushed Violet’s hair back with surprising gentleness. “She’ll have to be taught to restrain herself or she’ll end up burning herself out. Magic of that scale is almost unheard of in humans. Her body seems basically human, and you’re not designed to wield that much magic without a physical cost. I know you’re familiar with that, Mycroft.”

“Yes, I am. What about Alice? Is she really… alive? Is it permanent?”

“She’s alive, but there’s some definite residual traces of magic. It’s likely she has some sort of abilities herself now. As to rather or not it’s permanent, the best I can say is probably.”

“Oh, she’s definitely alive.” Death appeared, leaning against the doorframe and gesturing with her ever-present cigarette. “And before you say anything, Greg, calm down. I’m not gonna take Alice. Or her, this time. I’m just here to give a warning.”

“What kind of warning?”

“I can’t let her go around doing that. She’s shortened the life of everyone in London by five minutes. Do you have any idea how much time it’s going to take to straighten all that out? It’s going to cause no end of trouble.”

“Dear God. She’s only a child. I’m sure she doesn’t understand what she did.” Mycroft found himself protectively standing between Violet and Death, despite her promise she wasn’t there to take her.

“Yeah, well you’d better make sure she understands from now on. That’s like, so forbidden it’s _beyond_ forbidden. Just think about the ripples this kind of thing creates in reality. Like, for example, a guy was gonna die in a few minutes when a drunk driver runs off the road, but that can’t happen because a bus just hit him instead. So now he’s dead early, the bus driver’s gonna be traumatized and the drunk driver ends up getting off scott-free. And that’s just one case. Multiply that by a bunch. All that stuff’s gonna have consequences that Destiny, me and a lotta other Powers are gonna have to fix. So everybody’s gonna be all pissed off, ‘cause she just made a whole lot of work for everybody. Plus the Fates have to weave a whole new thread for Alice, and shorten a bunch more, and they’re gonna be bitching about it for years. I’m probably going to take some flak for not taking… what’s her name, the baby Goddess you’ve got there?”

“Violet. She’s my younger sister.”

“And who are you? Greg, I know, and Lucifer. Hey, Lucy.” She gave the Devil a friendly wave, then turned back to Mycroft.

“Lovely to see you as always, Death.”

“I’m Mycroft Holmes. This is my brother Sherlock and his fiancé, John Watson.”

“Cool. Look, Lucy, if you’re friends with these guys, you might wanna give them a hand with her before she gets them in real trouble.”

“Unfortunately, I’ve got to get back to L.A. soon. Did you know Loki’s here?”

“Really? There’s been trouble on the mortal realm and Loki’s here? That’s surprising”, she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “Maybe I’ll go have a little chat with him. He could be useful as long as you keep an eye on him.” She grinned, disappearing like the Cheshire cat. “I owe him one for cheating his way around me after Ragnarok.”

“What does she mean by that?” Mycroft looked curiously at Lucifer.

“He’s Norse, so he’s required to go through Hela’s realm after death. He made a deal with her not to take him, so Death had no choice but to drop him off in Jotunheim instead. In essence, he’s cheated Death. She’s pretty laid back as major Powers go, but breaches in protocol tend to annoy her.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, study: (26 April, early afternoon)

“What’s up?” Greg glanced at his lover curiously as he sat in the chair beside him. Mycroft was sipping a glass of juice while Fenris lounged at his feet in wolf form.

“We have something things to discuss between the three of us. Lucifer has offered to help establish the level and type of powers we’re facing with Violet and to make Loki more… manageable as he put it. You can imagine what he wants in return for his aid.”

 _“I imagine he wants sex.”_ Fenris gave the two an amused, wolfish grin. _“He probably noticed what a great arse you have, Mycroft.”_

“Geeze, what is it with that guy? Is he trying to complete the set or something?” Greg snorted. “Look, I promised John I wouldn’t say anything, but you should know he spent last night with them.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that. It’s either that or I have to formally ask him a favor, meaning I’d owe him one in return. What are your feelings on the matter?”

“It’s more than a little weird, don’t you think? I mean, first Sherlock and now you…”

“It is… a bit awkward, but owing him a favor would be awkward as well, considering that Thomas already owes him one. Having the two highest ranking members of our organization both owing Lucifer a favor could be problematic. Also, I believe one can only ask him for one favor, which means I wouldn’t have that option in some future emergency. Fenris, you know him better than we do. What’s your opinion?”

_“I don’t mind having sex with him, but neither of you really smell like you want to. You’re right that you can only ask him one favor but he doesn’t usually ask for anything too bad in return. I think he mostly uses it to fulfill favors for other people. He can be a little lazy about using magic.”_

“Then perhaps asking for a favor is the preferable option.”

_“That is for you and Greg to decide. He is very good at sex and has pheromones so unless you really hate the idea of sex with him you’d be aroused when you did it. I’m just happy you asked me when you didn’t really have to. It shows me you value my place in the pack.”_

“I do, very much so. Have you ever had sex with him?”

_“No but that was because when I was in Hell I wouldn’t let anyone top me and I ate all the ones I fucked. It was a matter of pride, but it doesn’t matter now because I belong to your pack and he’s not a demon anyway. Desire is one of his special powers so if you decide to have sex it will be good sex. But sex with you is always good so it doesn’t matter to me either way.”_

“Greg, your input would be valuable here.”

“I’ll go along with whatever you decide, but if you’re not into it, I’d say go with the favor. Personally, knowin’ he was with Sherlock and John last night is kinda a turn-off.”

“Then the matter is settled. A favor it is. I’ll go have a word with Lucifer.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, guest bedroom: (26 April, afternoon)

“Argh. What do _you_ want, Lucifer? Are you here to try threatening me into helping these ridiculous mortals as well?” After Death’s visit, Loki had decided to sulk for a while, plotting his next escapade over several bottles of what apparently passed for mead in the modern world.

“I _could_ offer you the carrot instead of the stick.”

“I’ve seen your carrot. You’re not my type.” Last night, he’d taken the form of a fly to spy on the residents of the house and much to his dismay, discovered Lucifer had beaten him in the race to see which one would bed Sherlock first. Now that it was no longer a game on one-upmanship with Lucifer, he’d lost interest.

“Hela owes me a favor.”

“So? She can’t break her agreement with me to do a favor for you.”

“True, but there’s a little loophole you’ve overlooked. I can ask her to grant me authority over a tiny piece of the most isolated, uncomfortable bit of Helheim, the one realm you can’t leave under your own power. Since it would technically still be part of her domain, Death and I could arrange for you to take a little vacation there for the next few millennia.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” He tried to look nonchalant, but he knew Lucifer was perfectly capable of making good on the threat.

“I would, I can and I will.” Lucifer smiled broadly. “Really, I’m not asking that much of you. You’re stuck tutoring the detective on Destiny’s orders anyway. All I’m asking is for you to add another student, and for you to at least _try_ to behave while you’re at it. I’ll be monitoring your efforts, and I’m sure I’m not the only Power who will be.”

 _“You_ are asking me to behave. _You_. Lucifer Morningstar, the ultimate rebel, is asking _me_ to behave.”

“Yes. Odd, isn’t it?”

“Why? Why do you care about these mortals and their dull little lives?” While Loki didn’t especially dislike humans, their incredibly brief life-spans made it a bit hard for him to take them seriously and he saw little point in getting attached to them.

“They’re far from dull, if you take the time to get to know them. Honestly, if I didn’t have interesting things already in the works in L.A., I’d probably stay here. They really are quite fascinating. You can’t tell me you haven’t found at least _one_ of them a little interesting.”

“Perhaps a bit, but certainly not enough so to hold _my_ attention. I’m beginning to suspect you’re more easily amused than I am.” He was, in truth, very interested in bedding Greg, but he suspected Fenris might be territorial regarding his interest and he had no intentions of getting into a dispute over a mortal with his god-devouring offspring.

“Six months. All I’m asking is you spend six months tutoring the child and behaving yourself. What’s that in the life-span of an immortal?”

“I’ll do it but I have conditions. When it’s done, you cancel the favor Hela owes you, and my own as well.”

“Loki, I’m fully aware that Destiny has already ordered you to tutor Sherlock, and Death, while she can’t take you directly, can make your existence… uncomfortable if you don’t tutor the child as well. It’s in your best interest to cooperate, so why should I cancel the favors?”

“I may have to help, but I’m not obligated to _behave_ while doing it.”

“Fine then. If you can manage to get through six months of being helpful without misbehaving too much, I’ll cancel the contracts. Agreed?”

“Agreed”, said Loki reluctantly. He sighed. Six months was the blink of an eye to an immortal, but nonetheless, he knew it was going to be hard to stay out of trouble that long.

\---


	22. We're a Real Family Now

Mycroft and Greg’s house, study: (26 April, late afternoon)

“I’ve already set the paperwork in motion. By tomorrow, Alice will have a new birth certificate and will legally be your daughter.” Mycroft smiled at the look in Greg’s eyes, proud that he could bring him so much happiness. “Congratulations, my love. You’re going to be a father.”

“Oh, God, Mycroft…” Greg swept him into his arms, blinking back tears of joy. “Thank you, Lover. Thank you so much.” He pressed his lips to Mycroft’s, kissing him lovingly.

“I do hate to interrupt…” Lucifer stood in the doorway, grinning at the pair. “…but I thought you’d want the results from our tests of the girls as soon as possible.”

“By all means, please.” Slightly flustered, Mycroft disentangled himself from Greg as best he could, though his lover kept hold of his hand. “Is Violet conscious yet?”

“No, but she should wake within the hour. I’ll have to do some further testing when she wakes, but we have some preliminary results and the results on Alice.”

“How is she?” Greg couldn’t help smiling, despite his concern. “She’s going to be my daughter.”

“Congratulations. She’s fine. She does have some unusual abilities, but being as you’re a medium, you’ll be the perfect one to raise her. She’ll need a bit of training and practice to control it, but she can attain a ghost-like state. She’ll probably be able to even exceed the abilities of her previous state… things like passing through walls, disrupting electrical devices, that sort of thing. Bran says he’ll work with her, so you needn’t worry about finding her a tutor.”

“And Violet?”

“She seems to have used a good deal of her power in resurrecting Alice, but she is, in essence, a magical battery, capable of storing and releasing vast amounts of magical energy. I’ll know more when she’s awake and I can test her properly, but her level of power depends on how much she’s stored. Right now, since she used so much magic resurrecting Alice, she’d be doing well to manifest something relatively small, but the less magic she uses, the more she’ll accumulate. And of course, once the seal is completely down, she’ll accumulate magic at a much greater rate. At her age, you don’t want her accumulating too much power or something as simple as a temper tantrum could end up leveling a few city blocks. Unlike you, she doesn’t need spells to use magic, but teaching her to use them will help her focus her abilities, so she learns to wield magic with real intent.”

“Thank you, Lucifer.”

“If you _really_ want to thank me, you know where I’ll be tonight.” He grinned and sauntered off, in search of a drink.

“He really is incorrigible.” Mycroft smiled as Greg pulled him back into his arms.

“Yeah, well I can’t really blame him. You’re pretty damn irresistible.”

“Yes, well…” Mycroft blushed, grinning slyly at Greg. “I’m told I have a magnificent arse.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, garden: (26 April, late afternoon)

“Lovey as this is, will we be able to go home soon, John?” Mrs. Hudson and John were sitting on the bench near the fairy tree, watching Kat and Steven with the girls. “I miss my kitchen. Between the staff and Greg, they won’t let me do anything here.”

“It should be fine in a day or two. Luckily Sherlock and I stayed out of most of the news reports, so we shouldn’t be bothered with too many reporters.”

“That fellow that caught you when you fell, the one that looks like that actor; is he really a God? And Lucifer… is he really the Devil? He seems too charming to be the Devil. I’d think he’d have horns and such, if he was really the Devil.” He also seemed far to handsome to be the Devil, but she decided to keep that particular opinion to herself.

“Loki? It’s complicated, Mrs. H. Apparently what we’ve been taught about that sort of thing is only part of the truth. Sherlock calls them Powers. And Lucifer really is the Devil, but he’s not evil. Being a Power is a bit like having a job, I think.”

“It’s still a bit disconcerting, having dinner with devils and gods and such.”

“I know what you mean. It’s a lot to get used to. Still, Lucifer’s actually a bit nice, once you get past that playboy image of his.” John smiled somewhat fondly, thinking of the incredibly intimate experience of making love with Sherlock wrapped in Lucifer’s wings.

“And that young man, Fenris. It’s hard to believe he turns into that giant wolf we saw on the telly.” She paused, looking at John curiously. “I don’t want to be indelicate, but are Greg and Mycroft… involved with him? He seems a bit young, more Kat’s age, really.”

“He’s a _lot_ older than he looks. He’s the God of Wolves. And yes, the three of them are a… family, of sorts. It’s complicated.”

“Well, as I’ve always said, live and let live. Whatever those two are up to with Mycroft, it seems to have done him a world of good. I actually caught him smiling earlier.”

“Yeah, we’ve all changed a bit, and for the better, I think.”

“Me too. I’ve never seen you or Sherlock so happy.” She patted his arm affectionately. “You really are good for each other.”

“I think so too.” John looked over at Rosie, smiling with love and pride. “We’re a real family now.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, Violet’s room: (26 April, early evening)

“Mycroft? Why am I in my room? I was outside with Alice and the fairies…” Violet sat up looked over at her brother, worry filling her eyes. “Did I forget things again?”

“No. You fainted.” Mycroft hesitated, struggling to find a way to tell her she had magical powers. “What’s the last thing you do remember?”

“I was talking to the fairies. They told me that you scared them at first, but now you don’t. Then I tried to throw the ball to Alice, but she couldn’t catch it. I felt sad, because I wanted to play with her.” She frowned, wrinkling her nose as she tried to remember. “I wished Alice wasn’t a ghost, so we could play. I don’t think it was fair that she has to be a ghost. Then my head started to feel funny and I woke up here. That’s all I remember. I’m really hungry. Is it time for dinner yet?”

“Soon. Violet… remember when I told you about magic?” Deeply moved, Mycroft felt his voice catching in his throat. She had felt sadness and empathy. She truly had changed, and if he’d been alone, he might have wept from sheer happiness.

“You said you can do magic, and about the fairies and Alice and Fenris, and that there were a lot of magic people and things in the world, like them and Loki and Lucifer.”

“Yes, and you can do magic too, but you have to be very careful with it. You need to be very careful about wishing for things, or you could accidently hurt yourself or someone else.”

“Did I hurt Alice?”

“No. You… you brought her back to life, Violet. And as happy as that’s made us all, you must be careful to never do something like that again. It’s very strong magic, and it’s dangerous for you to use that much magic all at once.”

“Oh. I didn’t _mean_ to do magic. Is that how to do it? Just wish for something very hard?”

“The best way is to use a magic spell. We have someone that’s going to teach you how to do them. That way, you won’t do any magic accidently. Bad things could happen if you use magic by accident. You could hurt yourself or someone else without meaning to, so you have to be very careful about wishing for things.”

“But Alice is okay? I didn’t hurt her?”

“No. This time you were very lucky. You could hurt yourself if you use up all of your magic at once. That’s why you fainted. You used too much. You must promise to be very careful.”

“Oh. Okay. Mycroft, do we have parents? Why am I with you instead of them? Are they dead?”

“No. It’s very complicated, but because I can do magic too, it’s best if I raise you instead of our parents. They don’t know much about that sort of thing.”

“Do they love me?”

“Yes, very much. I’m sure you’ll see them soon.” Mycroft wasn’t sure how he’d explain it to them, but at least they’d know their daughter now had a chance at a real life. It might never be a normal life, and she’d never be a normal child, but she’d have the chance for happiness that she’d never had before.

“Do _you_ love me?”

“Yes.” He smiled tenderly at his little sister.

“I think I love you too. Do you love Greg? Alice says you’re going to marry him.”

“Yes, I do. We’re getting married in a few months.”

“Alice says he’s nice. She said her Mum was mean, and that’s why Greg took her away from her. Is she his daughter now?”

“Yes, she is, and he’s very happy about it.”

“So when you get married, she’ll be _your_ daughter too. Can you adopt me? I want Alice to be my sister.”

“I’ll have to talk to our parents, but I think that would be a very good idea.” Mycroft smiled gently, changing the subject so he could get his emotions under control. “Now, are you ready to go downstairs? It’s almost time for dinner.”

“Okay. Can I have cereal for dinner? I really like cereal.”

“Then you should eat something else, and save cereal for breakfast, so it’s special. If you eat your favorite thing for every meal, it’s not special anymore. But if you eat your dinner, you can have a piece of cake for dessert. Does that sound good?”

“Okay.” She grinned up at him. “I’ll try not to wish it was cereal.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, Alice’s room: (26 April, early evening)

“Is Violet really going to be okay?” Alice sat her bear back in its place on the shelf, looking worriedly at Greg. Despite his reassurances, she was still used to being blamed for everything and she couldn’t help feeling that she’d somehow hurt Violet.

“She’s fine, sweetheart. I promise.” He sat in the chair, smiling. “Come here. I’ve got something to tell you, and I hope it’ll make you really happy.” She climbed into his lap, clinging to his arm. “Do you know that I love you?”

“You do? Really?”

“Really. I love you so much that I want you to be my daughter. Would you like that?”

“Do you promise you won’t go away, even if I’m bad? Mum said Dad left because I was a bad daughter.”

“Your Mum said a lot of things she shouldn’t have, because she was sick. I think you’re a wonderful daughter, and I’m going to do my best to be a good father to you.”

“I love you too, Greg. You’re the nicest person I know. Are you really going to be my dad now? Do you really want me?”

“More than anything. I always wanted a daughter, and it makes me very happy and proud to be your dad.”

“It makes me happy too!” Alice threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He blinked back tears of joy as he returned her hug.

“When you get married, will Mycroft be my Dad too? Does he want me for a daughter?”

“Yeah, he does. He’s the one who arranged all the paperwork so you can be our daughter. He’s not as good at showing how he feels as I am, but I know he loves you too.”

“Good. He’s nice. He’s not a nice as you, but I love him too. Is Tim going to be my brother?”

“He’s going to be your cousin, but since he’ll be living with us when he’s not at school, it’s almost like being your brother.”

“Oh. What about Fenris? I really like him. He’s funny and he likes to play with us.”

“That’s kinda complicated sweetheart, but he’s… family too.”

“Good. He lets me play princess and ride him around. It’s better than having a pony.” She giggled. “And he calls us pups.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, guest bedroom: (26 April, evening)

“I may be obligated to give you lessons, but I’d don’t have to tolerate an audience. He needs to leave.” Loki glared at John disdainfully. “We don’t want any distractions.”

“I’d like you to explain his healing abilities first. I’m quite sure _I’ll_ be distracted until we know more about them.” Sherlock crossed his arms, his face set in determination.

“Humans…”, Loki muttered, rolling his eyes. “Fine. He can heal wounds by taking them into himself and regenerating them. His own wounds will also regenerate, but the rate will be effected by exhaustion or of lack of food, and after healing someone, you’ll be tired and hungry. Push yourself too hard and you can die of exhaustion or starvation. Healing a mortal wound can be dangerous. If you take on more damage than your regenerative abilities can compensate for, you’ll die before you have time to heal. If they’ve got a bullet or some other foreign object lodged inside, it’s going to remain unless you get it out before you heal them. You can’t replace a missing limb or organ. All you can do in those cases is to heal the wound over. You can’t heal diseases; the only things you can heal beyond injuries are bites or stings from venomous creatures. You’re also immune to them, but not to other types of poisons. You can die of arsenic poisoning, for example, as easily as anyone else. You’re not immune to magical poisons, so you’d better know what you’re doing before you go mucking about with them. A manticore’s sting, for example, is merely a massive does of potent scorpion venom, so you’d be immune, but one sting from a fairy and you’re in trouble. Any more questions?”

“Can he use his ability to stabilize a mortally wounded person without taking on the entire injury?”

“No. It’s all or nothing. Now can we get on with your training?”

“Yes. Thank you, Loki. John, if you’ll excuse us now?”

Grumbling somewhat, John reluctantly went downstairs. He really wasn’t comfortable leaving Sherlock alone with the God of Mischief, but he had little choice in the matter. He headed to the lounge, hoping for a drink and some distracting conversation to take his mind off his worry.

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, bedroom: (26 April, late evening)

 _“I am going on a run with Liam and Thomas. We will probably be out late. Can I come in here to sleep when I get back?”_ Fenris stuck his head in the door, tail wagging hopefully.

“Yes, as long as you remember to shower first. And make sure your feet are clean before you come in the house. I don’t want any more muddy paw prints on the rugs.” Mycroft found it a little difficult to frown at Fenris, but he managed it. Putting up with shedding was bad enough, but he drew the line at muddy paws on his antique rugs.

_“I will be sure. I will try not to be untidy.”_

“How’s it going, with Liam?” Greg shook his head in sympathy. “I really feel for the guy. It’s gotta be rough, what he went through.”

_“It is going well. Thomas is helping him too. Soon he will be able to mate with Molly safely.”_

“That’s kinda up to her…”, Greg grinned. Somehow, falling for a werewolf was a step up from her usual taste. At least he wasn’t gay like Sherlock or a complete idiot like Tom had been.

 _“She smells like she wants to. Liam will make a good mate. He is kind and loyal. She would make a good werewolf if she chooses to be one.”_ He made a soft yip in goodbye and went tearing off, eager for the long run.

“So, Lover, it looks like we’ve got the evening to ourselves. Let’s see about getting you out of those clothes and into bed.” He led Mycroft to the closet, happily stripping his clothes off of him.

“Greg, do you think I’ll be a good father? You know I’m really not very good with children.”

“I think…” He nibbled at Mycroft’s neck as he stood behind him, unbuttoning his waistcoat. “…that you’re better with them than you realize. When I told Alice I was going to be her Dad, she told me that she loves me. Then she asked if you were going to be her father after we’re married. When I told her yes, she said she loves you too.”

“She did? I can’t imagine why.” He smiled softly. He was beginning to get used to being deeply touched. “Violet said much the same thing. She want us to adopt her, so they’ll be sisters.”

“I think that’d be great. Lover, you’ve been really good with Alice. You’re going to be a great father, Mycroft.” He unbuttoned Mycroft’s shirt, untucking his undershirt so he could run his hands across his skin. “You’re a better man than you give yourself credit for.”

“Are you accusing _me_ of humility?”, he asked with some amusement.

“Yeah, I am. And you’re also wrong about things sometimes.” He unfastened Mycroft’s trousers and slid them off as his lover hung up his shirt.

“Such as?”

“Like when you told me that you’re a difficult man to love. You were _way_ off on that. You’re easy to love, Mycroft.” He slid his hand inside Mycroft’s pants, rubbing his already hard cock. “But you’re hard in all the right places.”

“Apparently, we both are.” Mycroft could feel Greg’s cock, pressing against his arse through the thin fabric of his pants. “I very much want to feel you inside me.”

“Good, because I really want inside that fine arse of yours.” Greg stripped off their underclothes and led him to the bed, kissing him as they fell together in the sheets. He ran his hand through the streak of white above Mycroft’s left temple. “That really is sexy, you know.”

“You don’t think it makes me look… old?” He’d been very tempted to disguise it with magic when he’d looked in the mirror earlier.

“Nah. You killed a fucking dragon, Lover. Trust me; it’s damned sexy.” He kissed him again, then gently nipped at the shivery spot on his lover’s neck. “You make me so hard.” Greg pressed his cock against Mycroft’s, slowing grinding, to emphasize his point.

“You have the same effect on me.” Mycroft kissed him back, then ran his hand along the side of his lover’s face. His dark blue eyes were bright with love and admiration. “You’re so very handsome. Take me like this, Greg. I love to watch your face when you cum.”

“And I love watching you come all undone.” He grabbed the lube, bending to gently take his lover’s nipple between his teeth as he warmed it in his hand. “I’m gonna make you come.” Mycroft moaned softly, parting his legs and raising his hips as Greg’s warm, oil-slicked fingers fondled the velvety skin of his balls. His fingers slid past them, caressing the slick skin behind them, then made their way between his cheeks.

“Oh God, Greg…” Mycroft shivered in pleasure and anticipation as Greg caressed the sensitive nerves around his hole. Greg took his time, kissing and nibbling all the little erogenous spots on Mycroft’s body, almost, but not quite, pressing his finger inside him, driving him nearly mad with desire. “Greg, _please_ … Oh, God, please…”

“It turns me on so much, makin’ you beg.” Greg licked the underside of his cock, swallowing the head as he pushed his finger inside. He slipped it in-and-out until he could tell from Mycroft’s moans that he’d found his prostate. He pressed against it in gentle spirals as he toyed with Mycroft’s cock with lips and tongue.

“Greg… _Ohhh_ , Greg, please… I need your cock. Greg, my love… please, fuck me…” Mycroft begged shamelessly, writhing on the sheets, desperate to have his lover inside him.

“God, look at you.” Greg slid up his body, kissing him passionately as he lined his rock-hard, throbbing cock up with his lover’s entrance. “You sexy, beautiful man.” He growled in Mycroft’s ear as he pressed inside him.

“Yes, _ohh_ … Greg, yes…” Mycroft wrapped his legs around Greg’s waist, eyes glittering with pleasure as his lover’s thick cock sank deep into his body. His arms circled Greg’s neck, clinging to him as he cried out his name. As much as he enjoyed topping him, or their creative antics with Fenris, this would always be Mycroft’s favorite moment; that blissful mix of pain and ecstasy when Greg entered him, claiming him body and soul.

“You are so fuckin’ tight and hot…”, Greg panted, his voice low and harsh with desire. He shifted his angle, slowly thrusting until he could tell by the trembling of his lover’s limbs he’d found the perfect one. “Yeah… come for me, Lover.”

Waves of ecstasy crashed over Mycroft as he orgasmed, fluids leaking from his cock as Greg picked up speed. Body shaking, he cried out his name as Greg slammed into him one final time, volcanically erupting inside him.

“I… love you… Greg”, he panted. “I love you so much.” His arms stayed locked around his neck as he let his legs fall to the bed.

“I love… you too.” He captured his lover’s lips for a panting, breathless kiss. “Forever, Lover.”

“Forever, my love.”

\---

Thomas’s estate, The Briars, Sussex: (26 April, late evening)

_“That was very exciting! I like the helicopter. It is even more fun than the car.”_

“And I enjoyed your enthusiasm. It’s easy to become jaded and forget how exciting something as simple as a helicopter ride can be. Have you ever been in one, Liam?”

“No.” Lian chuckled ruefully, feeling a bit queasy from the ride. “I think Fenris enjoyed it a lot more than I did. It’s the first air travel I’ve ever done. I think I prefer to travel on the ground.”

“Well, we should have plenty of room to run here, without having to worry. I’ve notified the staff not to be concerned if they should hear howling, and there will be plenty of meat for the two of you when we’re done with our run.” He smiled at Fenris. “And mead, as well.”

_“Then let’s run and sing to the moon! We will play-fight. I’m sure you both have much to learn. Is there anything to hunt here? It would be good for Liam to learn to hunt.”_

“There’s a small herd of deer, but I’d rather us not kill any of them. I’ve just re-established them and I’m trying to build their numbers up.”

 _“Then we will only practice hunt. It will be good for Liam to see if he can keep control in the excitement of the chase.”_ Fenris was almost quivering with delight as he looked at the large shadowed forest surrounding the estate. As fun as running through the city’s streets and parks was, this was much better.

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, guest bedroom: (27 April, early AM)

“So how did it go? He didn’t try anything funny, did he?” John looked at his lover with concern. Sherlock was sitting on the bed, his head cradled in his hands.

“No, John. It’s just… mentally tiring. I’ve got a bit of a headache.”

“Well, then, maybe a massage will help. Let’s get you undressed.” He leaned over, gently kissing Sherlock’s brow as he unbuttoned his shirt.

“Learning to control this power is going to be difficult. It’s a bit like what I had to do with Lucifer. Not the sexy bit”, he hastily added. “Letting down my walls, I mean. Most of what he’s trying to teach takes place in my mind. It was much simpler with Lucifer. I may not entirely trust him, but he was, at least, gentle and patient. Loki is neither. I spent half my time trying to let him in and half of it trying to keep him out.”

“Maybe it’ll get easier with time.” John pulled Sherlock to his feet, unfastening his trousers and sliding them and his pants over his narrow hips. He slipped off his own clothes as Sherlock lay on the bed. “It took time to build enough trust with Lucifer.”

“They’re very different, John. Lucifer genuinely likes humans. He’s even fond of a few of them. Despite his enormous level of power, he’s able to treat us as equals of a sort. For an ancient Power created before time itself, Lucifer’s emotions seem very human. Loki very much seems to see us as lesser beings, and his emotions and motivations are much harder to read.” He rolled over, letting John straddle him as he began the massage.

“I do have to admit I don’t like leaving him alone with you. He was very… flirtatious at dinner last night.”

“I think he was only interested in me because Lucifer was. Loki’s very competitive in his way. Now that Lucifer’s had me, there’s no point in feigning interest. Personally, I think he’s far more interested in Greg.”

“I noticed that too. I guess he’s more his type.” John felt the tightness in Sherlock’s muscles beginning to loosen under his hands as he worked his way from his shoulders to his back.

“Yes, he is. Mycroft shared some of Lucifer’s information on him. Apparently he’s drawn toward buxom blondes and silver-haired men.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t see Greg going for that.” John chuckled softly as he worked the tension from his lover’s back. “I think he and Mycroft are already fending off Lucifer. If they’re not interested in him, I doubt they’d be interested in Loki, especially with Fenris in the picture.”

“No doubt you’re right.” He smiled softly, thinking of the changes his brother had been through. “I’ll deny it if you tell him so, but Mycroft’s really surprised me. I’ve come to admire his ability to adapt. It wasn’t very long ago that he was nearly having a melt-down over the idea of being in a relationship with _one_ person. Now he’s apparently quite content being with Fenris as well, and with the idea of having three children in his life. It seems nearly incomprehensible.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s hard to picture Mycroft with kids. Um… Did you know Fenris apparently has some… sex abilities not unlike Lucifer?”

“Really? I suspected he might have something like that.”

“According to Greg, yeah. I, um… kinda ran into him last night when I went down to the kitchen. He sort of figured out the wine wasn’t for us…”, John shrugged apologetically.

“Don’t worry about it. Mycroft already knows about us and Lucifer.”

“It doesn’t bother you, people knowing about it?”

“Well, I’d rather not see it make the blog…”, he said dryly. “…but no. Why should it? I’m not ashamed of what we did. Does it bother you, others knowing?”

“No, I guess not. It’s just… It’s a bit hard to explain, but that second time, when he wrapped us up in his wings… it was very special to me. What he said about love being sacred; it _felt_ sacred, and I think it’s something too intimate to really explain.” John slid down, working on Sherlock’s lower back and arse.

“I understand. It was very intimate for me as well. Speaking of intimate, my research on-line says sexual activity may actually cure mild headaches, and since you’re the healer…” Sherlock looked back at John, grinning. “…perhaps you should attend your patient.”

“That does seem like sound medical advice.” John grinned, his cock already half hard from massaging his lover’s body. He looked admiringly at the body laid out before him. “Have I told you how beautiful you are?”

“Not since yesterday.” Sherlock’s voice was playfully petulant. “I was worried you might have forgotten.”

“Never.” John bent low, nibbling at the nape of Sherlock’s neck, parting his legs so he could kneel between them as he slid down to nibble his inner thigh. John reached under his lover, delighted to see his cock was already hard.

“What sort of treatment do you recommend, Doctor?” An injection, perhaps?” Sherlock’s tone was entirely serious, but humor showed in the crinkling of his eyes.

“I think that would a very sound idea.” John pressed his cock against Sherlock’s arse as he reached for the lube. “Get on your knees. I want your cock in my hand when I’m inside you.” He slipped his fingers between his cheeks, teasing at the hole. Sherlock rose to his knees, pressing his back against John’s chest. He slid the finger inside, caressing his lover’s prostate. His other arm circled around Sherlock’s narrow waist, holding him as tightly as he could and still leave enough space for his fingers to do their work. He slipped a second finger in as his lover began to moan.

“ _Ohh_ , John…” His voice was like music to John, low and sensual, filled with longing. “I need to feel your cock, moving deep inside me.”

John lined himself up as Sherlock arched his hips back, impaling himself on John’s cock with a long sigh of satisfaction. John moaned as the thick head plunged through the tight ring of muscle, sinking deep into the heat of his lover’s body. He wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s long, lean cock, pumping it in rhythm to his movements.

“John, you… feel so good… inside me”, Sherlock gasped, panting hard as his orgasm built. All the voices in his mind palace fell blissfully silent, and there was nothing but John; the scent of his skin, the sound of his moans, the sensation of his hand caressing his cock.

“Oh God, Sherlock…”, he panted. “I’m so close…” His movements grew faster and he pounded deep into him, filling his lover with the heat of his cum. Sherlock followed moments later, cumming in John’s hand. John held him there, kissing the ivory skin of his neck and murmuring endearments.

“I love you, John.” Sherlock twisted in his arms, meeting his lips for a kiss. “I loved you before I even knew what love was.”

“I love you too, more than words can ever say.” Smiling, he drew Sherlock to lie down on the bed beside him. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life showing you how much I love you.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, bedroom: (27 April, AM)

Fenris stepped from the washroom into the bedroom, changing to wolf form as he padded to the bed. He jumped up behind Greg, who half-woke as he curled up behind him. Greg reached down, ruffling his ears, then wrapped his arm back around Mycroft and went back to sleep.

Fenris sighed contentedly, resting his head on Greg’s hip. Despite the fresh sheets and their inevitable shower, his sensitive nose could smell the scent of sex still lingering in the air. He breathed in deep, snuggling closer to Greg’s back and taking comfort in the closeness of his pack. He’d been, he thought, very lucky that it was Mycroft who’d summoned him. His humans were a good pair, loving and dedicated to each other, to him and their pack. Tomorrow morning, maybe he’d be allowed to join in their lovemaking. There’d be meat and mead for breakfast, and a day filled with playing with the pack’s three pups. It was a good life.

\---

Nowhere, underground nightclub: (27 April, AM)

It was as good a hiding place as any. A little make-up, a change of clothes and dyed hair made James Moriarty unrecognizable as he moved within the crowd. He had a lot of work to do before he reentered public notoriety. He’d been reborn with incredible physical abilities, but that wasn’t enough. He could sense that he had power within him that far exceeded his strength, speed and rapid healing abilities. What were mere physical abilities compared to the power he’d seen Eurus wield? He could feel the magic, coiled like a serpent within him, just waiting for him to discover how to use it. He needed time to lie low and learn to tap that power.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” A dark-haired young woman sat casually beside him at the bar. He could sense the power in her, and he knew instinctively that she was Death personified. He’d never seen anyone more beautiful in his life, and his heart leapt in a type of excitement that he’d seldom felt in his life. It was as close to love as he could ever come. “I’d take you, if I could.”

“You can take me anytime, honey.” He smiled at her, almost leering. “We’ve met before. We’re practically old friends… lovers, even.”

“Like, ick, no thanks. You’re not my type.” She rolled her eyes, snorting in disgust. “Why do I always get the weirdos?”

“What type do you want me to be? I’m very changeable.”

“I don’t do crazy, creepy, evil psychos. People like you make way too much work for me. You’ve sent enough clients my way.”

“Next time, I’ll send them with flowers. Little love poems carved into their skin. I’ll carve out their hearts and replace them with boxes of chocolates. I’ll leave diamonds where their eyes used to be.”

“Gross. You have, like, totally ruined my favorite bar.”

“I’ve loved you all my life. I didn’t think the perfect woman existed, yet here you are. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. We’re meant to be together. One day you’ll _come_ for me.”

“Eww.” She flicked her cigarette away and stood, turning her back and walking away.

“I’ll see you soon. I’m going to send you so many presents.” He grinned as he watched her walk away. He was going to send her so many beautiful gifts…

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, guest bedroom: (27 April, AM)

“Sherlock…” John sat up and stared at his lover, who was thrashing around, obviously in the throes of a nightmare. He reached out to wake him, hesitating as he wondered if it was something related to being a Seer. Sherlock groaned, his face contorting as if he were in agony. “Sod this. Sherlock, wake up!”

“John!” Sherlock looked at him in confusion, ran his hands over him as if examining him for injuries, and then wrapped him in his arms. John could feel him trembling.

“Sherlock…” John stroked his back, trying to sooth him. “It’s alright. You had a nightmare.”

“Moriarty… He’s still out there. He’s lying low for now, but he’ll be back… with magic.” His eyes were filled with the horrors he’d seen in his nightmare.

“Then we’ll be ready for him. We have magic on our side as well.”

“We’ll have to be.” Sherlock’s expression was grim. “I should have seen it coming. He’s always been…”

“Been what?”

“In love with Death.”

“What’s new about that? He’s always been in love with death. He did kill himself.”

“No, John. He’s in love with _Death_. And he’s going to be sending her gifts… A lot of gifts.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, bedroom: (27 April, early morning)

 _“Good Morning, Mycroft and Greg.”_ Ever alert, Fenris had woke when he felt his packmates stirring. _“Do you want to be alone or can I join you in sex?”_

“Good morning.” Mycroft rolled over to face Greg, smiling, with one eyebrow raised.

“Sure.” Greg grinned, reaching down to ruffle his ears as he leaned over to give Mycroft a kiss. “But lose the fur.”

 _“Of course.”_ Fenris yawned, shifting form as he stretched. “Mycroft, I was wondering about sex. Am I supposed to only have it with you and Greg?”

“I… I’ve never really thought about it. Is there someone you’re interested in?”

“No. Thomas asked if I’d like to have sex sometime but I’m still getting used to the idea that I don’t have to kill him. Vampires and werewolves used to be enemies but he has been a good friend to Liam. So maybe I can be friends with him but I still don’t want sex with a vampire. I just wanted to know what our pack’s rules are.”

“I suppose we should set some sort of boundaries.” He frowned, finding himself somewhat disconcerted by the mental picture of Fenris with someone else. He looked to Greg, wondering if he felt the same.

“Yeah, it’s doesn’t seem fair to tell you that you can’t, but…” Greg shrugged. “Honestly, it makes me feel kinda jealous.”

“I think I have to agree, though I’m not quite sure I have the right to feel that way.”

“That makes me happy. I’m glad you feel that way. It tells me you both think I belong with you. I don’t have any problem with only having sex with you. Our sex is really good. I just wanted to know how you felt about it.” Fenris grinned, totally happy that his pack-mates felt possessive towards him.

“Then we’ve agreed to be exclusive. I think, also, that I should say that if I’m ever unavailable or too tired, I don’t have any objections to the two of you having sex without me.” The idea of Greg having sex with any other person would have driven him into a fit of despair and rage, but he found the idea of his beloved having Fenris to turn to in those situations was strangely comforting.

“Me neither. I’m sure there’s gonna be times when I’m on a case or whatever, and I’ve got no problem with the two of you goin’ at it if you wanna.”

“Good. Can the three of us go at it now?”

“Yeah, let’s.” Greg grinned.

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, bedroom: (27 April, mid-afternoon)

“That was nearly more exhausting than fighting a dragon.” Mycroft murmured a spell, removing the magical illusion that had provided them disguises so that he and Greg could go unrecognized in public. “Will it always be like that?”

“Nah.” Greg chuckled as he took off his tie and waistcoat. “It gets way worse. Just wait ‘til they turn into teens.”

“Dear God, I can’t imagine…” Mycroft removed the pullover he was wearing, sneering at it in distaste. They’d taken Violet, Alice and Fenris shopping. All three had been in dire need of clothing, and the girls had needed more appropriate furnishings for their rooms. To say that keeping track of all three in the shops had been a challenge would be an understatement.

“God, you look sexy like that.” Greg grinned appreciatively at Mycroft, who was wearing a casual button-up and jeans. “Your arse looks great in those. I’m surprised you even own a pair. You oughta wear them more often.”

“I’ve had the occasion to go incognito before.” He unbuttoned them, happily shedding his disguise in favor of his more usual formal suit. “Besides, you said the same thing about the body armor.”

“Well, truth be told, your arse looks best in nothing.” He couldn’t resist groping him as he hung up the suit he’d been wearing. “I thought things went pretty well, all things considered.”

“True, though I suspect Violet used a bit of magic. I looked twice, and couldn’t find that blue dress in her size. It seems a bit convenient that she just happened to find it on another rack.”

“Yeah, well I thought Fenris was gonna cause a scene in the pet store when he told the clerk the rabbits looked delicious.” Greg laughed. “And the treat aisle, when he kept sampling things.”

“He has atrocious taste in clothing as well.” Mycroft sighed, thinking of the dismaying number of t-shirts, sweatshirts and hoodies with wolves printed on them they’d bought. “I think we can agree that the toy shop was the worst. I’m surprised we didn’t end up buying the entire store.” They’d come home with a miniature army of dolls, an alarming number of stuffed animals and a wide assortment of other things.

“Yeah. The dolls have as much clothing as the kids. And I though Fenris was gonna lose his mind when he saw those light-up frisbees.” He wrapped his arms around his half-dressed lover, drawing him in for a kiss. “It was nice though, being able to spoil them a little.”

“We’re going to have to be very careful not to spoil them too much. I do wish we’d avoided the pool accessory aisle. I have a terrible suspicion that if I don’t have one put in, we’ll just wake up and find one out there one day.”

“Probably. But it would be kinda nice, having one. I haven’t had time for it much in the last few years, but I used to love to swim.”

“It’s never been a favorite pastime of mine. The sun doesn’t agree with me.” Mycroft tried to look discouraging, but he kept picturing Greg in a swimsuit. He sighed softly. “I’ll call the contractors in the morning. I suppose it’s best to bow gracefully to the inevitable.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, guest bedroom: (27 April, mid-afternoon)

“Argh! Stop resisting.” Loki sighed, grinding his teeth in frustration and wishing, as he often had, that his abilities included telepathy. Working with this human was giving him a headache.

“I’m trying. This sort of thing is very difficult for me. I’ve spent a lifetime building up my defenses. Letting them down is very counter-intuitive to me.” Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting off a headache of his own.

“You were able to let Lucifer in your head. Would it help if I fucked you while we’re working?” Loki snorted.

“No. Like this, that sort of thing is a matter of trust with me.”

“And you don’t trust me?” Loki grinned, entirely incapable of asking the question with a straight face.

“The fact that you’re the God of Mischief doesn’t exactly inspire trust.”

“But the fact that Lucifer’s the Devil does?” Loki shook his head. “I’ll never understand mortals.”

“Are there those that _do_ trust you?”

“Not twice, no. Now concentrate. Soul projection is the quickest way to teach this, but I’m wasting my time if you don’t let me in.”

“What about the dream I had last night? I feel certain it was a warning.”

“Dreams aren’t my specialty, and they’re not a truly reliable way of using your ability. Yes, they can sometimes be prophetic, but too many unrelated things can leak in from your subconscious. The facts get distorted by your own fears or wishes. If you want to fool about with dream prophesy, call on Morpheus. Now pay attention.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, Violet’s room: (27 April, mid-afternoon)

“Hello, Violet. My name’s Lucifer. Can I come in?” He stood in the doorway, giving her his most charming smile.

“I guess so.” She shrugged, moving the tiny sofa in her dollhouse. “That’s better. Lucifer’s a funny name. A lot of people have funny names here.” She looked over at him curiously. “That’s the Devil’s name. Are you the Devil?”

“Would it scare you if I was?” He sat down on the floor beside her.

“No. Hand me the blue chair. I think it’d look nice by the fireplace. Look, it lights up like a real one.”

“So I see. You’re going to have a new tutor soon, but while I’m here, Mycroft asked me to teach you some spells. Would you like to learn some?”

“I’m busy setting up my dollhouse right now, but I guess that would be okay. Mycroft says when I learn spells I can do magic safely.”

“Yes, and you’ll be able to do all sorts of things if you’re careful. There’s a special place where you can practice doing magic without having to worry about accidents. Will you come with me?”

“Did Mycroft say it’s okay? I’m not supposed to go anywhere without asking.”

“Yes, he did.” He stood and held out his hand. “Ready?”

“Okay. Are we going far?”

“Very far, but we’re going to use magic to get there. Did you know I have wings?”

“I don’t see any wings.”

“That’s because I hide them most of the time. Would you like to see them?”

“Yes.” She smiled as Lucifer’s great white wings appeared. She reached out and touched the feathers, then took his hand. “Those are so soft and pretty. Can I have wings like that?”

“Yes, if you use magic. But that’s a spell for another day. Body manipulation is dangerous if you don’t know how to use it. Today we’re going to do simple things. You need to learn the simple spells so you can understand the harder ones.” The pair disappeared as they walked from the room.

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, dining room: (27 April, evening)

“How did your lesson go, Violet?” Mycroft had, of course, already heard Lucifer’s report, but he wanted to know what she would have to say about it.

“We went to a really boring place, but the lessons were fun. And there were lizards there. Magic is easy to learn. Lucifer says I’m a very good student.” He had taken her to a small, obscure realm known as the Barren Lands, a nearly uninhabited desert of sand and stone where she could do little harm if a spell went wrong. “He showed me how to make glass out of sand. I made a unicorn for Alice. All the things you need to make glass are in sand, so it was easy. Making water was harder, but I did it. Did you know air has water in it? There wasn’t much water in the air there so the pond wasn’t very big. But the lizard looked thirsty and I think he liked it. I wanted to make a tree, but Lucifer said it’s better to not make anything alive until I know more magic, so I made one out of glass so the lizard would have some shade. He liked it after I made the tree cool. I had to make two, because I made the first one get cool too fast and it broke. Glass is hot when you make it, but I’m immune to fire so it doesn’t burn me.”

“That’s very good. It sounds as if you’re making excellent progress.”

“She’s a fantastic student. No offence, Mycroft, but I think she’s even brighter than you. Teaching her is a real pleasure.”

“Lucky you”, muttered Loki. “I look forward to having _her_ as a pupil. Teaching her brother is like pulling dragon teeth.”

“Having trouble, are you?” Lucifer beamed a bright, white smile at him. “Well, that’s to be expected, I suppose.”

“And what does that mean?”, Loki growled. Although it was a fight he was sure he’d lose, he was frustrated and bored with the situation he’d found himself in and punching Lucifer right on that smug nose of his was beginning to look like an option.

“It means I’m very smart.” Violet said proudly. “Isn’t that right, Mycroft?”

“She’s right, brother dear.” Sherlock burst into laughter. He’d never have to hear that particular boast from his brother again. “ _She’s_ the smart one.”

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, bedroom: (27 April, late evening)

“It will be good to have the house to ourselves again.” Smiling, Mycroft stood behind Greg in the closet, unbuttoning his shirt. He asked Greg to make sure the girls were safely tucked in, giving him a chance to quickly undress himself before his lover got back to the bedroom. It was time, he thought, to spoil Greg for a change. He slid his hands beneath Greg’s undershirt, caressing his skin. “You really have been very helpful in all of this. I’m quite sure having so many houseguests would have driven me mad without your help.”

“Yeah, it’s been a little chaotic. I was worried there a minute at dinner that Loki and Lucifer were about to start a row.” He leaned into his lover’s embrace as Mycroft unfastened his trousers and slid his hands inside, fondling his cock.

“It’s intriguing to me how I can find your presence so calming, yet so stimulating at the same time.”

“Yeah, you’re pretty stimulating yourself.” He moaned softly as his lover’s long fingers circled his cock. Mycroft slid down to his knees, removing his shoes, trousers and pants.

“You’ve given me all the things I’ve never dared to let myself dream of.” He stood, turning Greg in his arms and pressing his body close. “Love, a family of my own… I only lived before you came along. You taught me what it’s like to really be _alive_.”

“I can say the same to you, lover. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” Greg reached up, pulling Mycroft’s head down for a long, lingering kiss, then led him into the bedroom. Fenris was waiting eagerly for them to join him, and Greg grinned, recalling a certain something he’d wanted to try.

\---

Greg and Mycroft’s house, guest bedroom: (27 April, late evening)

“I can’t wait to get home.” John sat on the bed and pulled off his shoes.

“I can’t wait to get you naked.” Sherlock, as usual, had removed his own clothing with almost alarming swiftness.

“You are over-sexed.” John laughed as he pulled his jumper off. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

“I am _not_.” Sherlock grinned. “Not at the moment, anyway, but I’m hoping to be soon…”

“Well, I’ll just have to see what I can do about that then.” John took off his shirt and stood, removing the rest of his clothes.

“Mmm”, Sherlock purred like a big cat as he looked at John’s cock, licking his lips. Smiling, John crawled into bed. His lover immediately pushed him onto his back, nibbling his way down his body with agonizingly sensual slowness. He reached John’s cock, licking his way down it before nipping lightly at his inner thighs.

“Sherlock… _please_ …” John’s fingers tangled in his lover’s silken hair, gently tugging him towards his cock.

“Patience, my love”, Sherlock murmured. He coated his fingers with lube from the bottle he’d concealed, fondling John’s balls as he teased his cock with his breath, almost, but not quite touching it. John raised his hips as Sherlock’s long slick fingers pressed firmly but gently against his perineum, then slid further back, between his cheeks. John moaned with need as he teased the sensitive nerves around his opening.

John’s body writhed, torn between the need for friction against his cock and the desire to feel his lover’s fingers inside him. It was insanely, deliciously maddening. He moaned again, long and loud, as Sherlock simultaneously pushed a finger inside him while taking the head of his cock into his mouth. Sherlock hummed, a low, almost growling sound, then swallowed him whole as his nimble finger pressed against John’s prostate. He brought him to the edge of orgasm, then stopped, sliding off his cock as he pulled his fingers out. Sherlock crawled up John’s body, his rainbow grey eyes bright with desire.

“Do you want me inside you, John?”

“God… yes!” John was nearly vibrating with need. He lifted his hips, wrapping his legs around him and groaning with pleasure as Sherlock’s long, lean cock sank into his body. Hand still entangled in his hair, he drew him into a kiss, devouring his lips as Sherlock began to move. Sherlock balanced himself on one arm so he could reach down, circling his hand around John’s cock and stroking it in rhythm with his thrusting.

Sherlock moaned John’s name, long and low and harsh with passion as he drove himself in deep, cum pumping from his cock. When he was finally emptied, he slid back down John’s body, engulfing his cock. His tongue slithered against the underside as he swallowed it, muscles at the back of his throat contracting around the crown.

“Oh, God… Sherlock!” Sherlock eagerly swallowed the hot cum that filled his mouth as John came, savoring the taste of his beloved. When John was completely spent, he slithered back up, plastering himself against John’s sweat-dampened skin.

“John…”, he murmured contentedly, nuzzling into his neck.

“I love you.” John ran his fingers through Sherlock’s dark curls, then wrapped his arms around him, holding him close as his lover drifted off to sleep. Sherlock had been working hard to learn how to understand his new abilities and John decided that as long as his lover’s sleep was peaceful, he didn’t mind sleeping in the wet spot.

\---

Mycroft and Greg’s house, bedroom: (27 April, late evening)

“Oh, God… that feels so… good.” Greg was straddling his lover, Mycroft’s cock buried deep inside him as Fenris’s worked his opening wider with his tongue and fingers. The burn of the stretching, the pressure of Mycroft’s cock against his prostate and the wet sliding of Fenris’s tongue combined into the perfect mix of pain and pleasure.

_“Are you ready for my cock now, Greg?”_

“Yeah”, he panted.

 _“I will go slow so that I don’t hurt you. Much._ ” Fenris slid his fingers and tongue out and positioned his cock. “I know you like some pain.”

“Ohh… _Fuckkkk_ …” Just the right amount of pain combined with an incredible feeling of fullness as Fenris carefully pushed his cock inside him. Fenris stayed still, giving Greg’s body time to adjust to the sensation. After a moment he began to move, slowly sliding his cock against Mycroft’s.

“Is it… _ohh_ … good for you?” Mycroft moaned as the head of Fenris’s cock slid across his own, pressed against it by the hot tightness of Greg’s body.

“God… _yess_ …” Greg started to tremble from the pressure on his prostate as Fenris fucked in-and-out of his body. His hand clenched Mycroft’s shoulder, bracing himself against Fenris’s thrusts as his cock leaked onto his lover’s belly. The pain and pleasure became just one glorious sensation as waves of orgasms went through him.

“Oh, FUCK!” Mycroft cried out as he came, eyes fixed on Greg’s face. Although the physical pleasure was intense, it was the sight of his lover’s face, transformed by ecstasy, that truly drove him over the edge.

Fenris came with a loud, howling moan as he felt Mycroft’s cock pulsing, pumping hot, slick cum against his flesh. When he was spent, he leaned over, licking the back of Greg’s neck and working his way down his body.

 _“Stay there. I want to get Mycroft hard again while he’s still inside you.”_ He growled softly, sliding his long tongue inside Greg, making both his lover’s gasp.

“Do you think… we can survive… another go?” Still panting for breath, Mycroft smiled up at his lover.

“I dunno… but I’m willing… to find out.” Greg grinned happily.

\--


	23. Epilogue

221B Baker Street

Sherlock and John settled back into their home at Baker street, glad to have things as close to being back normal as was possible in this new age of magic. Work continued on the lower apartment as they redid John’s old room as a nursery for Rosie. Mrs. Hudson happily resumed her social life while Kat took care of the children. Bill, much to John’s relief, moved into the new headquarters while Steven happily once more took up residence in his makeshift fairy tree in the window. While the city rebuilt itself, Sherlock and John celebrated their visit to the finally re-opened register’s office, planning on quietly marrying as soon as the waiting period was done.

The work continued, both at home and at the new headquarters. There had still been no word on Moriarty, but they all know it was only a matter of time until he resurfaced, more dangerous than ever. Scotland yard continued to come to them with cases both magical and mundane, though it was Sally Donovan that brought them instead of Greg. Sherlock began the task of cataloguing and ensuring the safety of fairy hives while working daily with Loki to master his Seer abilities. John began quietly making the rounds at St. Bart’s, using his healing abilities to help when he could. Mary worked closely with Greg, cataloguing and sometimes capturing London’s ghosts with the aid of Bran..

Their days were filled with mystery and adventure, their evenings with family, and their nights with passion in each other’s arms. It wasn’t quite the same as their old life, but they were happy.

\---

Greg and Mycroft’s house

Mycroft and Greg were finally free to settle into their life together without houseguests. While he was no longer an active member of the council, being the head of England’s Agency of Magical Affairs left many of his privileges intact and kept him busy, proceeding over the hiring of a new staff and the massive number of reports they received on suspected mystical activities. One of the most difficult transitions for him was his new fame as England’s premiere sorcerer. He’d spent a lifetime working from the shadows, and still felt more comfortable going in disguise whenever he appeared in public.

As head of Field Operations, Greg found himself busy as well, interviewing potential new field operatives, overseeing their work, and investigating ghost sightings with Mary. His skills as a medium steadily under Bran’s tutelage. He also often worked with his old comrades as Scotland Yard, serving as the official liaison for all things magical.

Together with Fenris, they began the task of raising three children while balancing home time with their careers. A new rule was adopted, and unless there was a very dire emergency, Sundays were strictly reserved for family time. With the girl’s special abilities, it was decided to hire tutors for them until they could control them more properly. Mycroft had been especially hard to please, but eventually they found a tutor both qualified and able to take magic in stride. Violet's lessons in magic with Loki began along with Alice’s lessons with Bran. As Westminster was temporarily closed for repairs, a tutor for Tim was also engaged, and it was decided he’d wait and begin his final year in the fall. Since he also was a medium, he began to sit in with Greg’s lessons with Bran.

Mycroft’s conversation with his parents about Violet had been difficult and emotional, and while they’d insisted on visiting, they’d finally given their blessing on letting Mycroft and Greg raise her as their daughter. Using his connections, he got her a new birth certificate listing him as her father.

Mycroft’s life had completely changed, as had Greg’s. They were both busier than ever, their time filled with work and family, but despite the new challenges, they were truly happy for the first time in their lives.

\---

Author's note: I hope you enjoyed it. The adventures will continue!


End file.
